When my 75-year-old father insisted we drive 1,300 miles to a mysterious coastal town for his birthday, I thought it was another of his whims.
But his cryptic excitement hid something deeper: an old pact, an unknown destination, and the kind of secrets that could change how I saw him forever.
My dad and I always had a great bond. When I was younger, we’d spend hours walking through the woods near our home, and he often whisked the family off on sudden weekend camping trips.
He was 75 now, his wiry frame a little thinner, his gait a little slower, but you’d never guess it when he got talking.
It didn’t matter if the subject was last night’s game, some documentary he caught, or one of the endless stories from his youth — I was always his favorite audience, and I didn’t mind being cast in the role.
Every Saturday, I’d visit him at the nursing home, where his mind seemed determined to outrun his aging body.
…The story doesn’t end here, it continues on the next page 👇
