over decades, earmarked in the paperwork with a single line: “For Eric, to make the bright thing he was always meant to make. I’m sorry it took me dying to stop being afraid of it.”
Chapter 4: What the Bright Thing Was
Eric had always wanted to be an artist.
That was the thing our father had spent a lifetime discouraging — gently, then not gently. Art was not a life for a serious man. Art was the loud shirt writ large, the ultimate spectacle, everything Dad’s world had taught him
