One day I got a three-cent postcard from my father. It came in the mail one day, with Mama’s address in Ocean Beach scratched out on the front, and my new address in La Mesa penciled in next to it, in Mama’s round hand. Charlotte handed the card to me when I came home from school. I took it to my room and read it several times:
Dear Son:
I hope this finds you well and happy. Your mother tells me that you are living with another family, and that they are good people. I am glad to hear that. I am sorry I have not been there for you. Maybe one day you will understand why, and will forgive me. I will always love you.
Your father,
William T. Campbell
Charlotte never asked me about the post card. I wouldn’t have known what to say to her, if she had. I would never hear from my father again. I put the postcard into my drawer along with my underwear and socks, and looked at it once in awhile, when I wanted to remember how things were, which wasn’t very often.