My copy is dog-eared and underlined and every once in a while I pull it out and flip through it and find my favorite parts and read them again.
Like this:
"I can't believe I got to Africa," he said.I love it. It's true.
"I know," I said.
"How did we get to Africa?" he said. "Already I don't want to leave. Did you feel that air? It's different. It's African air. It's like mixed with the sun more. Like our air isn't mixed as well with the sun. Here they mix it perfectly. The sun's in the wind, the sun's in your breaths."
"I'm glad you could come," I said.
And this:
All I ever wanted was to know what to do. ... And we came here, or came to Africa, and intermittently there were answers, intermittently there was a chorus and they sang to us and pointing, and were watching and approving but just as often there was silence, and we stood blinking under the sun, or under the black sky, and we had to think of what to do next.And this:
You see the rest of the world, then you come back.And I could go on and on, but I would end up quoting the book.
So I just found out and read all the posts in your blog, my son. Uhhh, you've been writing over a year and didn't tell your dear old Dad? In any case, it's what I would have expected- clever, thoughtful, funny and well written.
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