Frank Gullo

I’ve probably read The Catcher in the Rye fifty times since first discovering it as a teenager. But when I picked it up again this fall, just weeks after sending my daughter to university, I realized I wasn’t reading it as Holden’s peer anymore. I was reading it as someone’s father.

The Holden I’d known for decades, who I identified with and debated about in college, was gone. In his place was