1. In Virginia, just before he closed his apartment door after saying he couldn’t let anyone in until his wife returned from the grocery store.
2. In court, just before the judge ejected my brother and me from the courtroom because we were laughing too hard while the bailiff cuffed him.
About the first time.
When my trio of a family drove from our home in San Antonio, Texas to visit my birthplace, Alexandria, Virginia, a few miles from D.C. Five-year-olds, my brother and I begged our mother to see him. She knew. Of course she knew. That he lived with a woman who wasn’t the mother of his children. Not us or the two before us. The youngest of twins, I stood back with my mother while my brother knocked. Door latched, my father peered through a sliver of an opening. In a quivering voice he claimed he couldn’t let anyone in until his wife returned from the grocery store. Then he closed the door.