“Dad,” I said to him one day. “Are Jimmy and I going to work at the park?” My father was silent. He did this often, staring off into the middle distance, sifting through any of the dozen thoughts going through his head at any given time. Questions went ignored until they came up in his neurological queue. “Of course,” he said, looking slightly amused, as though the idea that we wouldn’t was strange. “You all will.”
