![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/stevenparlato.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/thenamesake.jpg?resize=195%2C300\")
Gifted artist? Standout student?<\/p>\nGifted artist? Standout student?<\/p>\n
All his teachers are sure certain that Evan Galloway can be the graduate who brings glory to small, ordinary St. Sebastian’s School.<\/p>\n
As for Evan, however, he can’t be bothered anymore.<\/p>\n
Since the shock of his young father’s suicide last spring, Evan no longer cares about the future. In fact, he believes that he spent the first fifteen years of his life living a lie. Despite his mother’s encouragement and the steadfast companionship of his best friend, Alexis, Evan is mired in rage and bitterness. Good memories seem ludicrous when the present holds no hope.<\/p>\n
Then Evan’s grandmother hands him the key–literally, a key–to a locked trunk that his father hid when he was the same age as Evan is now. Digging into the trunk and the small-town secrets it uncovers, Evan can begin to face who his father really was, and why even the love of his son could not save him.<\/p>\n
In a voice that resonates with the authenticity of grief, Steven Parlato tells a different kind of coming-of-age story, about a boy thrust into adulthood too soon, through the corridor of shame, disbelief, and finally…compassion<\/p>\n
Goodreads Reviews<\/a><\/p>\n Struggling in the wake of his father’s suicide, fifteen-year-old Evan Galloway hopes that uncovering old family secrets will give him insight into the tragedy. As they search for answers, he and his best friend, Alexis, shine a light into the past . . . realizing too late that some secrets are best kept in the dark.<\/p>\n The Namesake <\/em><\/strong>is the winner of the 2011 Tassy Walden Award Available at Amazon<\/a> EXCERPT<\/strong> THE NAMESAKE<\/strong><\/em>, Merit Press Books, 2012<\/p>\n Mister Pettafordi\u2019s office is examining room bright.<\/strong><\/p>\n It makes me queasy, like I\u2019m here for X-rays\u2014which, in a way, I My Father by Evan Galloway<\/strong><\/em> I wrote that in first grade. You could say my opinion of him has evolved. Gifted artist? Standout student? All his teachers are sure certain that Evan Galloway can be the graduate who brings glory to small, ordinary St. Sebastian’s School. As for Evan, however, he can’t be bothered anymore. Since the shock of his young father’s suicide last spring, Evan no longer cares about the future. In fact, he […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":79,"parent":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","book-authors":[],"book-series":[],"book-tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/stevenparlato.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/books\/701"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/stevenparlato.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/books"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/stevenparlato.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/books"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/stevenparlato.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=701"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/stevenparlato.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/79"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/stevenparlato.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=701"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"book-authors","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/stevenparlato.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fbook-authors&post=701"},{"taxonomy":"book-series","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/stevenparlato.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fbook-series&post=701"},{"taxonomy":"book-tags","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/stevenparlato.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fbook-tags&post=701"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nfor New Voices in Children’s (and Young Adult) Literature.<\/p>\n
\nReviews at Goodreads<\/a><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i1.wp.com\/stevenparlato.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/Namesake3.jpg?resize=658%2C95\" "\\"The")
<\/p>\n
\nam. My art teacher slash guidance counselor slash \u201cThink of me as your
\nfriend\u201d wants to help. That\u2019s how I landed in the vinyl visitor chair on the
\nwrong side of his desk. I should be in silent study, passing notes to Alexis.
\nInstead, I\u2019m here, embarrassed for Michelangelo\u2019s David. He\u2019s beside the
\nfile cabinet, a red umbrella hanging from his crooked elbow, looking a
\nlittle vulnerable, naked under the lights.
\nI need to write this stupid essay. Mr. P\u2019s fixated on getting me a full
\nscholarship; he says I\u2019m his \u201cbest student ever.\u201d But then, that\u2019s what my
\nteachers always say.
\nMister P: \u201cEvan, you need to pursue your art.\u201d
\nMe: \u201cUh-huh.\u201d
\nMister P: \u201cEvan, you\u2019ve got what it takes.\u201d
\nMe: \u201cHmm.\u201d
\nMister P: \u201cEvan, follow your dream!\u201d
\nThing is, I think it\u2019s his dream more than mine now.
\nBut I\u2019m trying to get a jump on this heap of applications. Pettafordi said
\nI need to \u201cdazzle them\u201d with my essay. I asked what I should write about.
\nHe said, \u201cEvan, write what you know.\u201d
\nAs helpful as that was, I\u2019ve chosen the opposite. See, I\u2019m not sure I
\nwant to study art, or even go to college anymore. So I\u2019ll write what I don\u2019t
\nknow. I could do twenty pages on spark plugs or the reproductive cycle of
\nthe Andean potato weevil. Except, those I could research. No. I\u2019ll tackle
\nthe true unknown.
\nI never knew my father.
\nI don\u2019t mean that in a trash TV kind of way. Like, Up Next, DNA Tests:
\nReal Dads Revealed! It\u2019s not like that. Mom wasn\u2019t a sperm bank patron. I
\nwasn\u2019t raised by wolverines. I\u2019ve lived most of my fourteen years in a room
\ntwo doors down from the man, falling asleep to his snores. I could map
\nyou his morning stubble, a whorl on his chin like Madagascar.
\nNope. Nothing dramatic about the Galloways. We were typical. Mom
\nmade Campbell\u2019s soup casseroles. Dad fell asleep in the leather chair on
\nmovie night. We were about as normal as it gets. At least, that\u2019s what
\neveryone thought.
\nBefore last April.
\nNow when I think about stuff, it\u2019s all about how it used to be. We
\nused to have Monopoly marathons. Build model planes. Gorge ourselves
\nat China Buffet. We used to . . . whatever.
\nA great philosopher once said, \u201cUsed-to-bes don\u2019t count anymore.\u201d
\nOkay, it was this singer, Neil Diamond. My friend Alexis is a huge fan.
\nBut I disagree with Old Neil because, really, used-to-bes are the only things
\nthat do count anymore. Especially when today sucks so bad.
\nIt\u2019s funny how perfectly life splits into before and after. Before, it was
\njust life, crappy or un\u2019. After, everything\u2019s different.
\nBut I was going to tell you about my father.<\/p>\n
\nMy father is tall.
\nMy father is fun.
\nMy father reads stories and
\nPlays with me.
\nMy father is the best, FATHER NUMBER ONE!<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nFor one thing, I realized he was never all that tall. I admit the poem loses
\nsomething sans macaroni frame, but I think it shows real literary promise.
\nI mean, after reading that, I\u2019m sure you can see how I ended up in Honors
\nEnglish, right?
\nYeah, I\u2019m smart. All through school I\u2019ve been in the brain group: TAG,
\nthe Talented And Gifted Program. It\u2019s actually sort of cool, loads of field
\ntrips, elaborate, \u201cself-guided learning opportunities.\u201d Sure, the regular
\nkids call us \u201cTag Fags,\u201d but that\u2019s never really bothered me. Not much.
\nIt\u2019s jealousy, plain and simple. And come on\u2014tag fag?\u2014such an obvious
\nrhyme. Leave it to a remedial reader.
\nNow I\u2019m at Saint Sebastian\u2019s Catholic High School, third year,
\nfollowing Dad\u2019s footsteps. Yeah, he went here. But I one-upped the old
\nman; I\u2019ll graduate at sixteen. They jumped me a couple grades. So I\u2019m the
\nsecond Evan Galloway to attend SSCHS. My family calls me \u201cJunior,\u201d
\nbut technically, I\u2019m not. Dad and I don\u2019t have the same middle name. Or,
\ndidn\u2019t. I do that sometimes, refer to him like he\u2019s still here. Like he didn\u2019t
\nkill himself last spring. Like Gran didn\u2019t find him hanging from a beam in
\nher attic Easter morning, while Mom and I were at Mass.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"