The plight of holy innocents caught in political crossfires is as old as time. The faces change, the circumstances change and the perpetrators in power are different - but the brutal fight persists. Children pay a steep price that they do not owe. A seemingly old tale is happening now.
My father was a go-getter, a self-made success in the world of finance, but sometimes he forgot he was a dad. At least, that is what it felt like to my 10-year-old self waiting to be picked up from my afterschool ballet class. This happened often enough that, when it got dark and there was still no sign of my ride, the old ladies who ran the parish rectory would call me into the kitchen, hand me a few dried apricots and let me use their phone to call my mother. My mother would then call my father and yell at him to leave work and come get me.
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