My father is quoted in his high school yearbook, the Chrysalis, during his senior class trip to New York City.

It was 1961. I would not be born for another ten years. The Eisenhower era was coming to an end. Charles Mingus was recording "Take the A Train." The Pittsburgh Pirates beat the Yankees in the World Series. New York was an exciting place to be, especially for a bunch of kids from the woods, loggers' kids and children from the small frontier town of Greenville, Maine.

I don't know what the class went to see, probably a show at Radio City Music Hall, but I'll never forget what my father saw. Or what he is reported to have said.

"Oh, look at the radios!"

{ nut }

My father built kit radios, played around with Citizens' Band before it was a big fad, borrowed a shortwave from a friend and spoke to Brazil. He built his own television from tubes, made his own speakers out of plywood and Radio Shack parts, and was always bringing gadgets home. I remember a desktop calculator that must have weighed fifteen pounds, whose display featured thin red numbers; another gizmo that played chess. We had pong and a TRS-80 far before anyone else that I knew. My father liked all kinds of electronics.

But mostly he just liked radios.

{ bolt }

My father and I don't talk much. When we do there is always a tension, as we try to connect, to make the pieces fit and work together without sparks, or static. It's not that we fight, or piss each other off.

We just don't connect.

{ washer }