said softly. “Because pride felt safer when it stayed hidden.”

My father nodded.

“I’m tired of hidden pride,” he said.

I held the photograph carefully.

For a long while, none of us spoke.

Then my mother reached into her grocery bag and pulled out sandwiches wrapped in wax paper.

“Turkey on rye,” she said. “No mustard.”

I looked at her.

She smiled through tears.continue reading …