Kenny's Camera, Cooking & Crazy Confessions

It's 4 a.m.  I've been up since 2. The freight train is rolling along the tracks about two miles away.  I turn towards the window to listen to the sound of the whistle, taking in the sweet fragrance of the night air and the vanilla glow of the moon. The musical chord triggers that memory again: Me, waiting at home for my father to get off work and come home from the steel mill at 11 pm. All of a sudden a new sensation envelops me: Another feeling I used to get as a child, back when my father walked through the house at 3 a.m. The combination of serenity and security. He got up every night to make sure that everything and everyone were okay. I pretended to be sound asleep but I'm quite sure he knew I was watching him through half-closed eyes as he stopped, then passed my room. And I did watch him, almost every night, as I listened to his tired steps in the silence of the dark. On his lee I never felt alone, afraid or unprotected.  Bec...