 My dad is a little boy opening boxes and putting stuff on shelves. I'm not great at that kind of thing. It's like trying to summon ghosts with a Ouija board and the little pointer refuses to budge. We've all got these spots from our family's past. We go to them. They're like Civil War battlefields that have been washed of blood long ago. We pause there and look at the trees and the grassy fields. And we want... what? What?