He likes to run his woman's clinic from our house because it allows him to be home for me. It has been just me and daddy since mom left us a few years...ago.I got up from my bed and shuffled downstairs to daddy's office. Just like I suspected my father was working at his desk. He was so intent on his work he didn't hear me enter the office."Daddy?"He looked up from his work with a look of concern on his face. He took in the fact that I was standing in front of his desk in my little nightie. I was. They hurt my nose. They burned behind my ears. They never seemed to sit neatly on my face. My mother's lack of concern didn't help. Nor did the kids at school, who started calling me "four-eyes" and "spec". Kids who wore glasses on tv and in movies were always portrayed as anemic, brainy misfits. The glasses made me feel ugly and deformed. I hated them.That Easter morning I carried, safely hidden in a zippered pocket inside my quilted carcoat, the latest of three letters from Martha. I kept her. More

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