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I want to tell you about a specific Sunday in 2018, in my parents' kitchen in London.
When people talk about the gulf between adult children and their boomer parents, they usually frame it as a story about cruelty, or coldness, or some failure of empathy on one side or the other.
The cousin called on a Tuesday.
I have noticed, over a long time, that there is a twenty-minute limit on the kind of conversation I can have alone in a room with my father.
I had a friend in New York, years ago, who was certain about everything.
I lost my dad a few years back.
I've been thinking about my father lately.
