Tomorrow, Elliot and I depart for Waupaca Wisconsin, my dad’s home from infancy until the age of 16. Throughout his life, over and over, Bob returned to Waupaca. As much as he hated cold weather and the parochial disadvantages of life in Waupaca, when he got to talking about it, an air of reverence and poetry emerged from stories of his youth. He traveled there many times over the years; he would bring his wife and son to meet the women who raised him: his Grandmother Mini, his aunt Esther, his aunt Alta, and his cousin Bernice. He attended many high school reunions. He told me often of his early years on the farm: doing math problems on a black board by gas light; life without indoor plumbing; the rare visits from his mother, never knowing, always hoping that one day she’d take him back. It’s easy to romanticize his struggle early in life, but the elements can’t be denied. When he was an infant, Bob’s mother left him in the care of his grandmother. The culture of these northern Europe...
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