Daddy with his sweatband on (it stops the sweat from rolling in his eyes and also keeps the combover in place) by Uncle Jim’s truck out in Western Hills. That truck is a deathtrap. Trust.
I grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio – a mid-sized, conservative mid-western town on the Mason Dixon line which has brought the most cases against the First Amendment to the Supreme Court – by a left-wing, liberal mother who looks like Carla from the sitcom, “Cheers,” and a right-wing, born-again, gun-collecting father. While they divorced when I was two, they shared custody, until Daddy moved to work in another state when I was eight. Thus, I’m more comfortable with paradoxical absurdities than not.