People | Generations

The Summer I Became a Thief

Sometimes I thought of it as war reparations. On the outwardly civil but quietly vicious battlefield of my parents’ divorce, I had been the clear loser.

Excerpted from edited by Michele Filgate (Simon & Schuster, April 2019). Reprinted with permission.

“Would you like this top?” My mother holds out an animal-print blouse with the price tag still on. It’s something I wouldn’t be caught dead in and she likely knows it, but still she’s eager for me to take it, to receive it from her. “I just bought it,” she says, “but maybe it would be better on you.”


a farbissener

He has a temper.


He has a temper. That’s what we called it when he threw my piggy bank at me one evening, while I was doing my homework.

Who am I without my halo?




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