Stories Of The Han

Days of rain were days of calm It meant that my older sister and I would get picked up from school I was 7, she was 9 We lived in Reseda, a part of town in the Valley comprised of broken families and poor immigrants My mother would pack our lunches, I couldn’t bear the ridicule She would be upset when I lost my chopsticks, I never told her I threw them away I couldn’t stand being different, it was hard enough being short, small, face flat, eyes slanted On days of rain, my father would drive his big GMC truck and wait for us after school His landscaping job was cut short which put him in an unusual good mood He’d pick us up and take us to Caeser’s Pizza I was always suspect of him when he acted this way I wasn’t sure if he was faking it, pretending to be nice He was quick with the lash, his voice would soar and crash upon us with fright On days of rain, he would implore to pick any topping we want, he would buy extra breadsticks At home, he would hand us each a hot piping slice and talk to us with with a