Somehow, although he never seemed to understand me, my father had noticed that I liked stories. I was already an adult living on my own in New York, when on a visit to my parents in Virginia, he invited me to watch a new television series with him.
“You like stories, so I think you will like this show,” he said.
I was so taken aback that I don’t even remember the name of the series, only the novelty of sharing a story with my father. Up until that moment, I would have guessed that he thought my interest in stories was silly.