There are moments of time that dance across the stage of my memory without invitation. They often alight when I am mindlessly involved in some mundane task such as unloading the dishwasher or sorting through the mail.
In one such moment, it’s 1982—I’m four years old. It’s late in the evening and very dark out. I am sitting in the passenger seat of my fa…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Melody Dowlearn's Substack to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.