This post deals with old events, almost as old as I am, but I hadn’t known some key facts about them until a couple of weeks ago. They’d been kept secret from me. I was deceived without actually being lied to. I still don’t know all the parts of the history, and maybe I never will.

Several years ago, I went searching for information about my father. He died in 1954 in a traffic accident, or so I was told. I was less than three years old at the time, but that’s not the only reason I have no memory of him. My surname is rare, making an Internet search easier. It wasn’t too hard to find confirmation of his date of death. The surprise was that he died in Shasta, California. I grew up in Manchester, New Hampshire, and my mother always lived there. He might have been there on a business trip, I thought. His family was from the west coast, so maybe he was visiting a relative.
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