The present breaks the past’s heart
Change is not my best friend. Not since the day my family moved from Wisconsin to California when I was eight. Leaving the land of my grandmother, the skating rink and snowballs in winter, Lake Mendota and the tennis courts in summer, the community garden and all that seemed unfair. The Fourth of July parade for kids was pure Americana. I dressed as the Statue of Liberty. Ice cream never tasted better than it did then and there. Los Angeles seemed like paradise lost, with a smoggy sky in a child’s eyes. Grown-ups talked about the Manson murders. Take me back, please! That ...