When I read "Broken" by X. Fang and thought about a memory of something broken, I immediately thought about a glass jar that held cigars tightly packed in concentric circles. This jar was not something that I broke. No. But I can see it vividly even though this memory is close to 60 years old.  I thought the glass container was so beautiful, encircled by a red satin ribbon, holding something my father enjoyed – cigars.  When I saw it in the store, I knew I had to buy it for him for Father’s Day.  I was so pleased with myself and knew he would be proud of me.