The following first appeared in my Kansas City Star column on April 8, 2015. I thought that it also belonged here.
“I need to write my memoirs,” my father said with purpose.
“I can help you with that,” I matched his determination.
It was a slow activity day–a lot of sitting around and waiting for things to happen. This project was a good way to pass the time, like working on a puzzle we could easily put it away and pick it up again.
I grubbed around in my tote for a small notebook and pen. “Let’s start at the beginning, get a rough draft of your life then fill in the details later. You were born in Hartford, right?”
We both enthusiastically began. Continue reading