No, home is not as simple as the heart-shaped sandwiches Ma placed into my lunch bag on Valentine’s Day or the way my father confessed to listening to me sing shower showtunes or washing a car beside my brother as the summer sun beat down.
Okay, a quick confession—I’m terrible at gifting. I occasionally land on the mark, but most of the time my ideas are either wild guesses or something thrown together in a panic, and I often fall back on the classics . . .
It’s imaginative fiction in a way that is jolting to the auto-fiction that is so prevalent today, and it allows Adam to make commentary on the disasters of human ambition.
“This,” I say to my daughter, choking up, “is civilization. Not banking, not technology. Not weaponry that kills without a fight. This,” I go on, seeing her face pale, “is what it means to be civilized.”
I do think that a stranger’s vantage point can be valuable and create interesting reflections or ideas, but it feels important to doing that in a way that was ethical.
Teh-lo: I liked the way the word felt and sounded. Small and round, like a pebble. When I mouthed it to myself, the tip of my tongue flicked the back of my teeth.