August 26, 2014
We weren't one of those families that ran together in the mornings before breakfast. Our dad wasn't square-jawed and thick-haired and didn't lead us through the quiet sleepy streets of our suburban neighborhood like a champ. We barely ate at the same table, and if we did, there was no conversation that I can even remember. Fortunately, the apartment we lived in for several years was so small that the kids ate in the kitchen while my parents ate in the tiny cramped and cluttered dining room, and we stupidly amused ourselves while they were busy not talking or something.