By Daniel McCoy

“Jim! Danny! You better get up! You don’t want to be late for school!” My mom is holding the bedroom door half open and calling from the hallway. She had called us a few minutes earlier, but both my brother Jim and I had drifted back off to sleep. A Monday morning is usually the hardest to wake up, but if we drift off again she’s liable to escalate by getting the cold water pitcher out of the fridge and threaten to dump it on us. She actually did that once, just once, to my brother. Once…

Daniel McCoy

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