when heroes were heroes
“No candy,” Mom would say. “Dad wants to send them something they can use. Get a can of beans or a little saucepan or maybe a nice handkerchief for the little girl. And make sure you’re back in time for dinner.” We were eight or nine, my twin brother and me, off and running for the bus to town, each of us clutching a silver dollar. Every November it was the same ritual. Buying Christmas presents for The Box.