Looking back, I remember how all of my family's summer barbecues went the same way. There'd be the initial bustle of uncles and aunts arriving with kids, clinking paper bags full of liquor, and lopsided foil trays of macaroni and lasagna. First drinks were poured,...

People sometimes ask me what my first memory is. Invariably I lie, because I'm prone to avoid the explanation that comes with the truth. Maybe, from now on, if someone casually asks me β€œWhat is your first memory?” I will reach into my bag where...