ne needles and silent anger. It was Christmas morning, bu

ff gray suit that looked out of place in our worn-out living room, had just left. She handed my father,

ing paper. My father pushed a large, brightly

o, son. Merr

e was a brand-new video game console, the one

I had my own gift for my father, something I hoped would earn

d, l

queak. I held it out to him. St

and for a second, I thought I saw a flicker of something.

pecial? Do you know how much school supplie

alf again. The pieces of paper, my hard wo

silently in her armchair, stood up. She walk

en, Jocelyn. Just

ldness in her eyes was what really hurt. I stood there, frozen, a