
Before weekend visits with our father, my mother would give me or my sister something of his, something that he didn’t need or want, and then she’d leave for the day.

Growing up on a farm was a lot like being a fighter pilot. Most days played out in tedious monotony interlaced with brief moments of sheer terror. This was never more evident than the afternoon my brother and I set out to plunder the bee tree and return to the house with their comb victorious.

I saw a flame on the water a couple of miles out. The Coast Guard found John the next day, washed up on a small island. They pulled the plane and two more bodies from the bottom of a deep channel.

A black bear cub sat eating cereal on the kitchen floor. The woman had never seen this bear cub before. The Cheerios box was split open, little o’s scattered everywhere. “Oh,” she said. “A bear. A very cute bear.” The bear paused for a moment as if it knew it was a very cute bear.…

Twenty-eight years of marriage and never a cross word. I won’t argue with you, is all she ever said. There is nothing to argue about. You are what you are. The world is the way it is. And so for twenty-eight years we never discussed politics, never talked of war in the Balkans, the genocide…