Late Night Cheerios
Sitting hunched over at my kitchen counter at 10:30 p.m., I find myself eating a bowl of Cheerios with cold skim milk, and I remember that this is something my stepfather did most every night in the threadbare kitchens of my childhood, and there were many. But the last kitchen I clearly see him in is the one on 34th street, in our old neighborhood on Milwaukee’s Westside. He is sitting at our Formica table pushed up against the wall on one side of the kitchen lit by a dim overhead light in the middle of the ceiling. He sat…
