Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Clicking My Cup



Clicking My Cup


My mother weaned us early, long before we could speak. One supper, after I could speak, I asked for milk my usual way. I clicked my cup twice to the table top. A sister sitting next to me leaned over and said (in a kind-but-determined voice): “Bobby, you are big enough now to ask for your milk.” More embarrassed than proud, I knew that from that supper forward I would say, “More milk, please.”

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