He hadn’t changed at all.
My dad was always a thrill-seeker.
Before he married Mom, they were both part of an amateur expedition team. After marrying her, he quit the original team, but was still rarely home. Instead, he formed a new group with other outdoor enthusiasts.
After I was born, he stayed home a bit more, but his free-spirited nature couldn’t be restrained. He still went on expeditions just as often.
In my memory, the only one ever truly tied down was Mom.
When I cried as a child, she would cry with me, often breaking down, then healing on her own, again and again.
She endured it all until I finally grew up and only then did she return to work as a nurse.
But Dad never considered Mom’s feelings. In fact, he found her boring.
Every time he conquered a new place, he would bring back a stone as a souvenir for her.
Mom’s vanity table wasn’t filled with jewelry or makeup. It was completely taken over by stones from all over the country.
And now, there was one more.
Even I felt it was too much, let alone Mom. I wanted to throw it far, far away.
But Dad just kept smiling eerily and asked, “What’s wrong, Margaret? Don’t you like it?”