Reading a literary book on the art of the memoir, I
had an insight about my father. I pictured that both of us were on parallel
tracks--that despite the differences in our chosen vocations--I would become
very much like my father.
And I tried to picture more deeply who he was.
As if from another region of my mind, I pulled a transparent film over
my father, covering his outsized character, his successes, his failures, his
determination, his foolishness . . . And that
transparent film was me.
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