for one more day

my father once told me, "you can be a mama's boy ar a daddy's boy. But you can't be both."
so i was a daddy's boy. I mimicked his walk. I mimicked his deep, smoky laugh. I carried a baseball glove because he loved baseball, and i took every hardball he threw, even the ones that stung my hands so badly i thought i would scream.
when school was out , i would run to his liquor store on kraft avenue and stay until dinnertime, playing with empty boxes in the storeroom, waiting for him to finish, we would ride home together in his sky blue buick sedan, and sometimes we would sit in the driveway as he somed his chesterfields and listened to the radio news.
i have a younger sister named Roberta, and back then she wore pink ballerina slippers everywhere. when we ate at the local diner, my mother would yank her to the "ladies" room - her pink feet sliding across the tile - while my father took me to the "gents'. in my young mind i figured this was life's assignment: me with him, her with her. Ladies'. Gents'. Mama's. Daddy's.

a daddy's boy.



i was a daddy's boy, and i remained a daddy's boy right up a hot, cloudless saturday morning in the spring of my fifth grade year. we had a scheduled that day againts tha Cardinals, who wore red wool uniforms and were sponsored by Connor's Plumbing Supply.

the sun was already warming the kitchen when i entered in my long socks, carrying my glove, and saw my mother at the table smoking a cigarette, my mother was a beautiful woman, but she didn't look beautiful that morning. she bit her lip and looked away from me. i remebered the smell of burnt toast and i thought she was upset because she messed up breakfast.

"i'll eat cereal," i said
i took a bowl from the cupboard.
she cleared her throat. "what time is your game, honey?"
"do you have a cold?" i asked.
she took her head and put a hand to her cheek. "what time is your game?"
 "i dunno." i shrugged. this was before i wore a watch.
i got the class bottle of milk and the big box of corn puffs. i poured the corn puffs too fast and some bounced out the bowl and onto the table. my mother picked them up, one at time, and put in her palm.

"i'll take you," she whispered. "whenever it is."
"why can't daddy take me?" i asked.
"daddy's not here."
"where is he?"
she didn't answer




"when's he coming back?"
she squeezed the corn puffs and they crumbled into floury dust.




i was a mama's boy from that day on.











For one more day.
by mitch albom.














i,ve read this book..sangat best..aku pinjam buku ni dari library..you all should read this book..ia sangat memberi inspirasi.