By National Association for Girls and Women in Sport
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Extra info for Black Women in Sport
As far back as Gideon could remember, she and Dustin had been part of their parents’ helping work. Sometimes they met with other people from church and visited hospitals or homes where old people with gray hair lived. Lots of times they painted a church or picked up dirty pop cans and hamburger wrappers along busy roads. Other days they knocked on doors and collected canned food for hungry people. She couldn’t explain it to her friends at school. But working with her parents and helping people was the happiest thing Gideon ever did.
How is he getting along? For a moment she closed her eyes and remembered him the way he’d been before he left. Come home, son. Please. Before it’s too late. She blinked her eyes open and returned her attention to the matter at hand. Slowly her pen began to move across the page. It’s December again and I must tell you, son, my hope is strongest at this time of the year. I picture you, somewhere out there, and know that wherever you are you know this much: Special things happen at Christmas. I hope—wherever you are—you’re still thinking of us, Earl.
The key that freed him to relive the life he’d once had. A life he could never have again. Something about the red gloves took him back and made it all real—their voices, their touch, their warmth as they sat with him around the dinner table each night. Their love. It was as though he’d never lost a bit of it. As long as he wore the gloves. Otherwise, the prison would have been unbearable. Because the truth was Earl had lost everything. His life, his hope, his will to live. But when he slipped on the gloves … Ah, when he felt the finely knit wool surround his fingers, Earl still had the one thing that mattered.