My older daughter, Lillie, a 10th grader, is visiting. We’ve finished dinner and are sitting around, and it feels like a good time to mention that I have finally had my first date. As I had suspected, she has a flood of questions, which I have decided in advance not to answer. Instead, I start taking notes.
A young boy molts. Tender skin falls off, or gets scraped off, and is replaced by a tougher, more permanent crust. I made a change like that standing in the back of a pickup truck when I was 15.
I ride an old motorcycle. It breaks down regularly, and the guy who used to do the repair work went bankrupt and left town. I called around, and the only place willing to do the work now is a chopper shop about an hour away where the local motorcycle gangs get their bikes fixed.
“My two-year-old daughter is caught up in a difficult health problem. I joined the Well to talk about Radio, but I found myself in the Parenting Conference late at night talking about Lillie. And little flashes of light came back– other parents, other people– responding.”