“Welcome to our adoption center,” Mr. Blake ushers people inside. Time to please them. Maya barks softly. Kenny shakes his tail. Misty shows her pleading face. I know these tricks, but my limp hind leg is too obvious.
I peered at my watch and hollered another reminder to my dad, who was still smoothing out his navy-blue shirt in front of our living room mirror. He was in his spotless beige khakis pants and new white Nike sneakers, totally dressed up for the annual Chinese New Year parade in D.C.
Carrying a box loaded with vegetables, I inched toward the gate of Sunday School. A short skinny old lady was standing on the right side of the school gate.