Some people say that you can make a house in your mind and place certain memories in each room. For me, it’s geometric. Things are generally organized, but there is some mess. It’s like going to the attic.
In recounting the details of my father’s life, I discovered something simple: Through a lifetime of ceaseless work and an unmistakable belief in family, Mike has made it possible to focus on the things that make him happy.
My face and my head pulse, and so does the radio. I’m losing track of time, but I can tell that we’re close to the beach when the police officer stops us—the ceaseless strip of road has gone satisfyingly gritty with sand.