Explore "China's Son" by Da Chen on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I went to the post office every morning and sorted the mail with the clerk. This chubby lady was a one-woman show: she was the phone operator, mail deliverer, telegram person, and counter clerk, who sold stamps and sealed packages. She was also the mother of the two kids who played on the dirt floor and watched the door for her. Whenever the truck arrived, the eldest kid would shout that the mail was in from Putien. His mom would come out, and I would help her carry it in. When she was out on her bike delivering the mail, her mother-in-law took over watching the children and the switchboard. No matter how shabby, the post office was a crucial message center: it held my hopes and dreams.
I sat on the doorstep, played with the kids, and looked for the green post office truck from Putien each morning. Whenever it came, my heart would race and my head would begin to throb with anticipation.