We’ve driven hours, my mom, dad, little brother and me to this remote town – Sterling, Illinois – and at 10 years old I’ve only got the vaguest idea why. It has something to do with my dad’s grandfather, but I’m much more interested in the atmosphere of the old cemetery he’s brought us to. It’s a foggy day, chilly and the graveyard is appropriately gloomy.
Certainly my dad told us something about his grandfather, but it went right over my head.
It’s the same response I get from my own grandchildren, and their fathers when they were young: in one ear and out the other.