Personal Essay: “On Normal”

When I was little, I saw nothing odd in the way my family worked. There was nothing odd in my mother’s mood swings and how it concerned me on a personal level when she was angry or upset. There was nothing strange about my father, who at first used to sing us songs and read us bedtime stories, but with time become more engrossed in his computer and spending most of his free time at home as a solid back in a computer chair, the clacking of computer keys filling the sun-kissed air.

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