The Family Room

There is a photograph on my desk of my father. Actually, it’s of my father and me. Sitting in a Mustang convertible. It’s a recent photo, just last summer. I had flown up to Wisconsin to visit and, the weather being particularly beautiful, I rented the wild red thing and drove him around his hometown…my home-town…and simply let the memories overtake him. He is a Depression-era kid who grew up in a tough time in a tough family. He sold the doughnuts and bread his mother baked door-to-door to help make the family’s ends meet. Read more »