When Stories Contain Pieces of Home: a Short Reflection

 

He walked into my room while I was trying to find a place for the new books I’d picked up at the library. He said, “Mama, do you think you can give me a copy of The Colors of the Rain that’s signed so I can put it on my bookshelf?”

“I already put one on the bookshelf out in the library,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “I just wanted one of my own.”

“Like, signed for you?”

“Yeah.”

He started middle school this year. The first day of school he didn’t need me to walk him to the door of his classro...