My mom would carry me to the living room couch on mornings before school. For breakfast, she usually made cinnamon toast and a cup of scratch cocoa. It didn't matter that it was practically all sugar. She always made my school lunch and then when I started working in the coal mine, she packed my dinner bucket.
In my mind, it was a delicate tether to home and a tangible reassurance of her love. When I drank the dusty chlorine-flavored municipal water from the bottom compartment of the bucket, I felt it.
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"The perfect gift for me will always be a box." ~ Concrete Waffer