There’s a story my folks used to tell when they wanted to get across what it was like to be older parents, in their fifties and sixties, with a young boy in the house. A boy, they understood, who was bored and restless with no siblings still living at home, who spent most of his days alone. A boy who seemed to live inside his own head and often lost track of time and of where he was and wished he were growing up anywhere other than Brownsville, isolated at the southern tip of the state, alongside the border and not far from the sea.Years later, my parents and I would kid one another about what happened that day when we all went to the…
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