He held up the sandwich bag. The photograph inside.
“But my grandpa told me something,” Caleb said. “He said courage is moving when somebody’s
got their hand on your shoulder.”
He looked at the room.
“So I want to say thank you,” he said, “to everybody here who puts their hand on somebody’s shoulder.”
He looked at me.
“Especially my grandpa,” he said. “Who wore his uniform even though it didn’t fit right.”
The whole cafeteria laughed.
Then they stood up.
Part Eighteen: The Cedar Closet
The dress blues are back in the cedar closet now.
In the black garment bag. Behind Peg’s old winter coat.
But they don’t stay there all year anymore.
Every May, I take them out. I shine my shoes with a cotton ball and a little water, in small circles, until I can see my face in the toe. It takes me fifty minutes now. My hands are worse.
