Free Dwarf: A Memoir by Tiffanie Didonato, Rennie Dyball

smoke trailing behind it.
     I watched my reflection grow larger in the recruiter’s dark aviator sunglasses as
     he bent down to give me this fabulous gift.
    While I got my bearings, the airman and my mom sat at our round dining room table,
     discussing all sorts of things I didn’t understand and rustling papers between them.
     Mom looked back at me and smiled. I tried not to keep staring, but he looked so crisp,
     clean, and official. I couldn’t understand how a person could look so handsome and
     so intimidating at the same time. Mom signed things, and he signed things, and throughout
     it all, no one asked my dad to sign anything.
    “I have to do this, Gerry,” I heard her say later that night. And then she issued
     an ultimatum of her own. “Come with us or we go on our own.”
    A couple of days later, Mom explained to me that we were going somewhere important
     where there were more men and women just like the recruiter, but that my dad had decided
     not to come with us. He didn’t want to leave my brother.
    I’d repeat part of my mom’s reasoning in school when Katie asked me why we were moving.
     “We have to do this,” I told her, even though I didn’t understand why.
    It was a confusing time for me, but I was used to feeling confused about my family—
     my dad’s side, anyway. No one ever talked about the DiDonatos in front of me, but
     I did manage to hear bits and pieces about them from my parents’ arguments. I never
     felt comfortable bringing up the subject myself.
    I did think about the DiDonatos, but I didn’t feel like a majorpiece of my life was missing without them, since I had no concept of who they were
     to begin with. I didn’t even know if I had aunts, uncles, or cousins on my dad’s side.
     No one ever said anything about my paternal grandparents, either. While I didn’t spend
     time wishing for a reunion, I did wonder where they were and what they were like.
    What sort of houses did they live in? Did I have cousins who were little like me?
     Did we shop at the same grocery store? Had I seen them there before without even knowing
     it?
    During the holidays, I would only see my mom’s side of the family. Every Thanksgiving,
     the Pryors would gather at Papa’s long, wooden kitchen table to celebrate. My mom
     and dad took separate vehicles. Armed with their best side dishes, my family members
     would arrive, greeting one another loudly with hugs and kisses, and pats on the head
     for the kids. Then the group gathered in the den for hours to watch the football game
     before we sat down to eat. It was always a festive, happy mood around the dinner table.
    But after the pumpkin pie was sliced and served, Dad would always leave early.
    “It was good to see ya, Gerry,” my aunts and uncles would say, the exact same way
     every year. Dad responded in kind. “Yah, yah, it was good to see you, too.” Before
     long, it all started to sound very rehearsed to me.
    “I’m just going to the store,” Dad told me if I asked where he was going. Or, in his
     typical secretive fashion, sometimes he would simply say: “I’ll see you back home.”
    Then he’d pull on his heavy brown coat, give me a hug without looking me in the eye,
     and shuffle down the narrow walkway from Papa’s front door to the driveway. From the
     window, I’d watch him back his truck out onto the street and then I’d pretend, like
     my mom, that it was no big deal to go on with our holidaywithout him. But inside, I wondered where he went. Eventually I figured it out: Dad
     was going to see
his
side of the family.
    And I wasn’t allowed to go with him.

    Once Mom finalized her decision to enlist, she went away for special training. After
     what felt like a lifetime without her, Dad and I drove to Logan Airport in Boston.
     We looked up her gate on the big arrival screens, and I held his hand as we waited
     for her flight to arrive.
    Mom was returning from MIMSO (Military Indoctrinated Medical Service Officer)