I’m eight years old. I arrive at my grandparents’ house and my tummy hurts. My heart races and I feel heaviness. It’s Sunday afternoon and the house is full of gray-haired great aunts and uncles and cousins rarely seen throughout the year, and tables are lined with food. It’s hot.
As I enter the front door, my mom propels me forward. I try to resist being passed around like a doll, but one after the other I am forced to hug numerous people. Some even lean in for a kiss, square on the lips.…
