Unlike any other country, we sacralize dreams, underdogs and comebacks. We still crave recognition. Our struggle drives and sustains us.
I just learned that my father, a Los Angeles attorney distinguished in his field of law, long kept thousands of dollars’ worth of gold coins in a safe, deep in the dark recesses of his closet. Tucked next to an old hunting knife and essential government documents, it was the kind of stash one might maintain if war were looming or if my father were a fugitive in hiding.