18may08 - My dad wrote science fiction in his youth. I’ve never seen a word of it. He’s a political scientist and the director of a very down-to-earth community foundation. His research gig is nuclear weapons and international law; invented worlds and far-future science claim no part of his life beyond a stack of books on the night table. But he wrote the stuff, caramba. For over thirty years I suspected nothing; then a lunatic who used to play high-speed chicken on the backroads of Albemarle County, Virginia (and who is now a Texas neurosurgeon), spilled the beans. This runs in your lymphatic, kid, etc..
Why the secrecy? Was it because I was setting out to write [let’s all be solemn, now] literary fiction? Did he hope to spare me the family vice?
What about my grandparents? How far back does this go? I’m starting to feel like I’ve stumbled into an HP Lovecraft story.