When I Sit Down To

She Has Given Birth To Vagabonds. She Is The Keeper Of All These Names And Numbers Now, Numbers She Once Knew By Heart, Numbers And Addresses Her Children No Longer Remember.

It Didn't Matter That I Wore Clothes From Sears; I Was Still Different. I Looked Different. My Name Was Different. I Wanted To Pull Away From The Things That Marked My Parents As Being Different.

The Thought Of Christmas Overwhelms Him. He No Longer Looks Forward To The Holiday; He Wants Only To Be On The Other Side Of The Season. His Impatience Makes Him Feel That He Is Incontrovertibly, Finally, An Adult.

She Had Listened To Him, Partly Sympathetic, Partly Horrified. For It Was One Thing For Her To Reject Her Background, To Be Critical Of Her Family's Heritage, Another To Hear It From Him.

Gogol Remembers Having To Do The Same Thing When He Was Younger, When His Grandparents Died...he Remembers, Back Then, Being Bored By It, Annoyed At Having To Observe A Ritual No One Else He Knew Followed, In Honor Of People He Had Seen Only A Few Times In His Life...now, Sitting Together At The Kitchen Table At Six-thirty Every Evening, His Father's Chair Empty, This Meatless Meal Is The Only Thing That Seems To Make Sense.