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“Drink your milk, Tommy.” Three-year-old Tommy looks up at his mom, then stares at the glass. He blinks and makes a face. Back home, his regular milk glass is straight and ordinary with a teddy bear decal, the restaurant glass is stubby and round as a barrel. It’s foreign to him. Tommy sits looking at his milk, his bright pink hair stands up straight and his saucer-like blue eyes dominate his entire face. He’s my big sister’s little boy and he looks up to me, his uncle. He hasn’t learned yet that I’m a wily 15-year-old that enjoys creating chaos. Sitting across from Tommy, I lean in on my elbows and say, “Hey, Tommy, did your mom ever tell you that milk doesn’t really come
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Okay, since I've received no response regarding the length of this piece, I'm going to guess, and move it to the Fragments and Feedback for Short Works area.
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