My father is a storyteller. On summer vacations as a kid, we would trek from California to New Mexico in our brown Ford Aerostar mini-van. This was long before in-built car TVs and fancy portable video games. As we made our way across the endlessly homogeneous desert Southwest, my father would spin impromptu tales. In the ones tailor-made for my sister, something beautiful and magical would always happen; in mine, it was something gross. I don’t remember the precise details any more than the landscape, but I recall how those hours flew by amid squeals of laughter and groans of surprise.
In his retirement, my dad has been setting down these and many other stories for young people. And most recently, he has begun sharing some of this work in text and audio snippets on his new website. Be sure check it out, and leave an encouraging comment for the man who first introduced me to the pure delight of letting one’s imagination catch fire.