The Frederik Pohl Omnibus

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He had a name, but at home he was called ‘Sonny,’ and he was almost always at home. He hated it Other boys his age went to school. Sonny would have done anything to go to school, but his family was, to put it mildly, not well off. It wasn’t Sonny’s fault that his father was spectacularly unsuccessful. But it meant - no school for Sonny, no boys of his own age for Sonny to play with. All childhoods are tragic (as all adults forget), but Sonny’s was misery all the way through.

The worst time was at night, when the baby sister was asleep and the parents were grimly eating and reading and dancing and drinking, until they were ready to drop. And of all bad nights, the night before his twelfth birthday was perhaps Sonny’s worst. He was old enough to know what a birthday party was like. It would be cake and candy, shows and games; it would be presents, presents, presents. It would be a terrible, endless day.

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