The Photo I Still Carry
Dad took a picture of us outside the barbershop—two bald heads leaning close, smiling like co-conspirators. We printed it and taped it to the fridge. Years later, I keep a copy in my wallet. Not because of how we looked, but because of what she taught me without meaning to: that love can drown out shame, that you don’t always answer cruelty with anger—you answer it by showing up.
