My Name was Supposed to be Elizabeth Ann

— Stories from the Roads (Not) Taken

Shortly after we moved, my daughter wrote to Santa Claus. She worried she’d be getting coal  and whether Santa knew our new address. ‘I’ve been trying my hardest to be good,’ she explained, and thanked him for ‘what you are doing for me and other children.’ She was 11. She’s twenty-five now. Along with a …

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