Thanksgiving night,
alone on the dorm floor, I called my Dad.
There is something I should have clarified, long time ago.
"When did you and mom get divorced?"
He was surprised and puzzled, not sure why I brought this up.
Neither do I.
"...I forgot. Let me ask my wife."
I laughed out loud, this was too funny.
"1992, around July or August."
1992...
I was 10, already!
I had always thought I was only eight.
July or August...
So it was in the summer, my favorite season. Why don't I remember the heat?
The memory is quite blur, only clear on one or two things:
the night my brother and I kneeled down to plead Dad,
the day I sat on Dad's lap before he and my brother took off.
Time has flied by,
so much has changed.
I have been wrong all these years.
I was 10,
already.
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