Channeling Dad
I’m in Manhattan eating a bagel as big as my head. We’re at a serviceman’s hostel: mom, Elaine and her boys, me and mine. 9:30 They’re all also except me. Typical. But here I am writing like dad would while on his travels. It feels right. It’s quiet. Mom sprang for this family gathering. Elice and Brahim couldn’t make it. It’s the end of Ramadan. We’ll see them later this …