Something about her was familiar, I could swear I’d seen her face before, but she said I’m sure you’re mistaken and she didn’t say anything more.

Rain fell on the stressed rooftop of that 63 Plymouth. We were thrown about in a complex whirlwind we did not understand. At the age that I now I understand that my parents, just children themselves, barely understood either.

I am yet thankful for the sweet pillow of protection that we enjoyed. It is funny how I perceived hardness and discipline in a bubble that love protected. I knew though, 3 years later when I did not get to spend the day with my father that our bond was powerful.

We stupidly went to visit people I did not even know and all day, I was on the edge of breaking down. I did not understand it, but I knew it was real.

The year after that I rejoiced when my parents reconciled. Part of it was the escape from the totalitarian regime I was living in. We became the family that we started out to be. How sweet and surreal.

If you wonder where my ability to shift on the fly came from, my parents displayed this in the final month of 1974, to protect us.

It was a silent ride to Bristol. Nothing was really ever the same. 

One thing happened from all of this. My dad became my hero, for better or worse. Because of this, I learned more than I could have ever learned from him. For this, I am so grateful.