Excerpt from Blackbird by Jennifer Lauck, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Why don't we wait and see," Daddy says.


Bedtime is eight o'clock, eight-thirty on weekends, that's the rule.

Every night, I go into the living room to say my prayers out loud for Momma. I kneel on the floor, put my elbows on the big purple grape, and press my hands together. Closing my eyes, I say the same prayer every night, how I'm giving my soul to God and how I hope I'll wake up in the morning. It's a creepy prayer, but that's the way it goes.

After the creepy prayer, I open my eyes and thank God for all the good things, from the beginning to the end, and after being thankful, I get to wish for what I want most in the world. Every night it's the same thing. I wish tomorrow will be a good day. Momma smiles when I say that, her hand on the side of my face.

After prayers, she kisses me good night and gives me a hug. It's the best kind of hug with our faces cheek to cheek and the smell of her almond lotion.

"And I'm most thankful for you," she whispers, "you're my extra special gift."

There's something about how she says she's most thankful for me, like I did something just by being born. It's the best thing being someone's extra special gift.

I hug her back as hard as I can without hurting and that's when Daddy carries me to bed.

Copyright © 2000 by Jennifer Lauck.