“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
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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