An Afghan Childhood
We packed up our gloves and bats and drove away from the field and straight into a line of tanks driving down a main thoroughfare. “It’s a coup!,” I cried. “Nonsense, darling,” my mother said. “It’s a parade.” That was before she noticed the soldiers’ guns were cocked and pointed. We spent the night stranded at a friends’ house, huddling away from windows and listening to Russian MiGs strafe the presidential palace....