Writing what I live and see
When I moved to Texas as a single mom in 1982, I did my best to ensure my son, Marty, a mere first-grader, made new friends. I wanted him to belong, to not feel alone in our new place.
So, one day at JC Penney’s, he was picking out a new ball glove for his team. And I touched the adult gloves, sliding my right hand into one. The memories flooded back, and my fingers melted inside th...