I Am Not Just What I Remember.

There's Hope Around The Corner.

Unlike My Mother, My Father Does Not Cry Quietly. His Wails Roll Out Like A Wave Of Pain, And I Scramble To Roll Up My Window. My Mother Cannot Hear That. I Cannot Bear To Hear It Myself. I Am Not Used To My Father's Crying. I've Had No Time To Harden My Heart Against Him.

I Was Lucky Enough Not To Face Any Required Summer Reading Lists Until I Went To College. So I Still Think Of Summer As The Best Time To Read For Fun.

The Sudden Silence Is Horrifying, And It Seems To Catch My Mother Off Guard. A Tiny Whimper Escapes Her, The Sound Amplified In The Stillness. Surely, My Father Hears Her Now; Surely He And I Can't Go On Pretending She Isn't Crying.

Nothing Was More Valuable Than The Printed Word.