"At our window, we viewed everything from a cold, gray world, looking into a shop where everything was alive, vibrant and sparkling with color; where children played in the street with their new toys, rode new bikes or pulled new sleds in the snow. We could only imagine what it was to know the joy we saw on their faces. Michael and I played our own game at that window: pick a snowflake under the streetlight, track its descent and see which one was the first to "stick." We observed the flakes tumble, separated in the air, united on the ground, dissolved into one. That night we must have watched and counted dozens of them before we fell quiet. Michael looked sad—and I can see myself now, looking down on him from an 8-year-old's height, feeling that same sadness. Then he started to sing:
"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way Oh what fun it is to ride, In a one horse open sleigh . . ."
It is my first memory of hearing his voice, an angelic sound. He sang softly so that Mother wouldn't hear. I joined in and we started making harmony. We sang verses of "Silent Night" and "Little Drummer Boy." Two boys carol-singing on the doorstep of our exclusion, songs we'd heard at school, not knowing that singing would be our profession."