It’s one thing to understand facts and another thing to understand why those facts are facts. I sat for a little while more with Papa. It was strange to be alone with him, and I realized I hardly ever was. I studied his face—his wide nose, his round cheeks, the lines in his forehead, his eyes squinting at his heavy thoughts as he sipped. I couldn’t imagine Papa as a child, carefree and playful. It was like he was born an adult, a father, a doctor.
