A Dime a Dozen Carissa Chang

"Mommy! I can't find it!" My chubby hands flew up in frustration as my blankets and bed sheets tumbled on down, creating an incriminatingly prominent heap on the floor.

"Find what?" Faithfully her characteristic scent of jasmine with a touch of azalea tenderly wrapped itself around me in an attempt to assuage my tumultuous temper.

But alas, my insufferably obstinate disposition would never allow it. Under the pillow, under the mattress, under the bed down my eyes cast, down my shoulders slumped somehow my quest for my Holy Grail of the week now seemed fruitless and futile.

"Eh? What are you talking about? Your dime should be here somewhere the Tooth Fairy would never forget about you!" and down in a flash she was on her hands and knees, fumbling frantically through the rumpled folds of my blankets and pillowcase.

But the damage was already done. I never was one for magical entities and pixie dust, I guess.

As the seasons and years wore on, I began to work myself out of my protective bubble, noticing bit by bit that things just weren't the way they had seemed when I was five years old. Under this increasingly critical eye I learned to discern that it was my father and not Jolly 'ole Saint...