My Father Ordered Me to Strip Off My Uniform at His Cookout

the wind out of me.

My mother had spent most of her life making herself smaller around my father’s moods. She smoothed things. Redirected. Quieted. Apologized for noise nobody else minded.

She stopped beside Uncle Raymond.

Then she said, “He writes to me.”

Dad turned. “Linda, stay out of this.”

She didn’t even look at him.

“He writes to me,” she said again.continue reading …