When the Stars Come Out

reconsidering the seemingly isolated moments

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…