A Novel Life
Me, not looking at my father holding the camera As a child, I had two great mysteries to work out. One was my family, and the other was myself. Family My family was composed of four very private people. When we each inhabited our own worlds, doing what we liked to do, we got along well enough. The house was quiet and well-run by my mother: we had regular meals and new clothes in a clean and orderly environment. My mother and father found like-minded friends outside our home, leaving my brother and me to manage our own separate social lives. During big events like holidays, where cultural expectations were heavy and precise, we struggled to fit the ideal of a typical American family—great quantities of food, merry visits with family and friends, and a mood of happy anticipation. We were not well equipped to meet these expectations, but my mother was valiant in her efforts to do right by our family. Togetherness did not come easily, though, so tension was high on these occasions. M...
