By eight years old, I was already skilled in the art of fetching my stepfather a drink. Not yet tall enough to reach the large glasses on the top shelf, or the liquor cabinet above the stove, I’d hoist myself onto the counter. Next I’d grab a plastic tumbler from the first cupboard, one of those ringed by four smart rows of penguins marching neatly round. A few steps of my bare feet across counter-top brought me to the highest cabinet where a bottle of Seagram’s 7 always fronted a handful of options.
When I don’t blame myself, I attribute it all to three things I knew to be true: three. I list them not in order of importance, but just as they come, which may be important. But, then again, it probably isn’t. When I was growing up, I didn’t do it. I knew I couldn’t dream… Continue reading The Things I Knew