He was a small man; but in the dream he was huge. He was a gentle man; but in the dream he raged. "You've been ignoring me. You haven't visited in months!" I protested, insisting he was dead. He grew even angrier. I woke up, heart racing. What did he mean? What had I ignored?
Just a few weeks later, clearing out my parents' garage, I uncovered a box containing hundreds of letters my dad wrote home to my mother as an Army infantryman during the Pacific War. As I read them, I began to understand his longing for normalcy, for quietude, for a small town like Culver City. I began to comprehend what an accomplishment it is to make a home, a life, and a world of possibilities for your children. I began to understand why my father believed that if there's a cure for what ails you, why suffer?