[I dug this up tonight while looking through old writing. It’s a hoot. Written July of 2015.]
My daddy looks up from the couch across from me, graying stubble and a questioning glance. My dad sits next to him reading the newspaper.
“When you were little, did you still have Mother’s Day?”
He motions me over to his lap. I snuggle against his chest—he smells like lavender.
He’s silent for a moment, then speaks. “Honey, where did you hear about that?”
“Um, my American History teacher mentioned it. But then he shut his lips really tight and wouldn’t say anything about it. He said we should never talk about it because some people find it offensive.” Continue reading