I was one of the little ones. We were invisible.
The women cooked.
Grandpa, had a tool box and nodded his head to the older boys. First they went up to Mom’s room and took apart the crib. Grandpa said very little. If the boys fought he slammed a tool down loud enough to make his point.
They carried the pieces into the garage hiding it under an old bedspread. He had the boys clean out the rest of the garage.
Mother came home the next week, “Where’s my crib?”
Then I heard Grandpa cry.