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Years ago I wrote this story, which I called “Burial At Sea,” about a camping trip I went on with my old man. It’s true, so far as I remember it, but I’ve hesitated in publishing it again in ebook form. It is included in my collection of short stories, Time in the Dark. One of the reasons I’ve hesitated is because my family’s unhappiest days are bound up with our time living in Las Vegas, and it isn’t an exaggeration to say most of that can be laid at the old man’s door. Another reason is that I seldom write about myself, and frankly it makes me uncomfortable to do so. I’d rather talk ideas, most days. But for what it’s worth, here’s a piece of history and it’s true, and maybe it’s rosed over in places with a boy’s love of a man he hoped would be a good father, and who never learned that trick. The damage for my mother, and my siblings ,and for me has been considerable, and we are all still dealing with the fallout.

Today is his birthday. It’s the second one he’s spent in prison for a murder that goes back to those Vegas days. He will be there for life. This is his gift from me.

Happy Birthday, Pop.