When I was little, I spent summer evenings playing on the sand and exploring little rock pools while my dad fished. The sun would set, and I’d wait into the dark, knowing that he’d soon be walking back across the rocks, triumphant, with a lop-sided smile and a tailor or two for dinner.
As I got older, fishing became my refuge. One of my brothers lives with a profound intellectual disability. At home, in the city, he screamed, broke plates on the front steps and tried to throw my cat off the balcony.
