Mrs Castelli told Mother that I didn’t know what my father did for a living. Mother explained that Father was a welder who worked in Elkhills Mine. Mrs Castelli turned to me, smiled, and said, “I would find it difficult to understand what a welder does, too.” She suggested that perhaps the reason why I was so confused was because I didn’t speak or understand English as well as the other students. She noted how well Mother spoke English and encouraged her to speak to me in English as much as possible. She told Mother that I rarely spoke in class and was extremely shy. I was beyond embarrassed.

Mrs Castelli said that I would have to redo the assignment. She explained that part of the assignment was to learn how to interview people, how to conduct research, and urged me to ask Father what welders do.

In the car on the way home, I felt like I was outside of my own body. Bea and Hilary kept themselves busy with their own fun. They knew I was in trouble.

Mother didn’t tell Father about our meeting with Mrs Castelli and helped me complete my profile. When we were finished, she told me that we would never speak of this incident again.

Early the next morning, Father returned from his last night shift of four straight days of work, but he didn’t take a shower and go to sleep like usual. When I came downstairs for breakfast, he was sitting at the kitchen table with a cigarette in his mouth, still in his work clothes. When he saw me, he took the cigarette out of his mouth and stamped it out in the crystal ashtray on the table. The morning light pierced the prism of the dish and flashed a sharp reflection on him. He handed me my new assignment, a picture of Father standing in front of the largest truck in the world pasted to the cover.

“Lily, what is this assignment you had to do for school?” He must have stumbled upon my work while we were sleeping.

Mother entered the kitchen, and I looked at her pleadingly. She stood behind Father, floating like a ghost.

Father slammed his hand on the table and yelled, “Don’t look at your mother!”

“I-I had to write about what my father does for work,” I stammered.

Father then pulled out my original assignment. I thought Mother had thrown it away. He pointed to the picture I had sketched of a man sitting at a desk with his tie drooping in front of him. “Who is this, Lily?”

“It was supposed to be you,” I murmured.

“Is it me?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered.

“Then who is it, and what is he doing?”

“It’s Uncle Sam, and he’s working in an office,” I whimpered.

Father’s face went grey. I wanted to tell him that I had wanted no part of the assignment, and that is why I had copied Hilary.

Father turned to Mother and shouted, “A family’s misfortune should not be publicly aired! How did you let this happen?”