The Chicken Goes Home To Roost
July, 1994
Just brace yourself," my sister told me. It was about our father. I was as braced as I could get. Sick with dread, rigid with fear, but braced. I watched the bleak winter landscape of Pennsylvania whiz by, the landscape of my childhood. I felt my grown-up persona ebbing. I became more infantile by the mile."I am way too scared," I said to my friend Jay. My sister had told me that our father's mind had just plain gone. That he would look at a cup and try to unscrew it from the tabl...
