When I was young he would yell me at a lot, for a lot of reasons. I would cry, and he would yell more. I would say something that any stupid kid would say without thinking, and he would yell instead of calmly correcting me.

I had to have been about eight so. For some damn reason, he was making me do a lot of cleaning (even though I didn't cause the mess, but most of it was my older brother). I was unhappy, so I was frowning. He raised his voice and said "Smile."

There were tears is my eyes but if I let them spill he would have yelled at me for that. He repeated "Smile!" So I did so with watery eyes.

He doesn't yell at me much anymore now that I'm older, because I know what to avoid, how to diffuse it, or I've become so apathetic that it becomes a non-issue between us.

I don't cry much anymore, but I can't do it in front of people, even close friends and never family. I don't smile much either.

They didn’t want the mug. It was not on the registry. But it’s monogrammed. It’s the thought that counts. When they move in, it’s placed in the very back of the cabinet. Only the front row dishes and glasses are cycled in and out of the place.

Time passes. They start to reach for second row dishes. It takes longer for them to return.

Finally, the cabinet opens and the mug is alone in there. So the hand takes it and rinses off the dust and finally it’s functioning as it’s supposed to. It sits for a while on the counter. Contents congeal. The mug witnesses an argument and it’s thumped - not very gently - into the sink. That’s okay. It’s sturdy enough.

Time passes.

It’s clean now. It sits upside down on a drying mat, but a bit of a ring remains from the only thing it’s held. It’s okay, it gives it character. A few of the other mugs are cycled on and off the mat. Sometimes it’s accidentally put in rotation.

Time passes.

It sits, pleasantly warm, on the counter. The hand is supposed to take it to the desk that overlooks a window with a view of the bay. But it waits patiently as there’s shouting again in the kitchen. Then, perhaps tempers ran a bit hotter than usual, perhaps a hand flails just a bit too far. But the mug goes flying. It’s sturdy, but not that sturdy.