Because of my parents' divorce in 1947, I learned to dance to my grandpa's violin.
Daddy walked out never to return home again when I was in second grade. My mother gave up our little house by the railroad tracks and moved us to Grandpa's farm outside of the small town of Mesquite, Texas.
Grandpa, tired after a long day of laying bricks for houses, always got out his tractor and plowed his few acres. I rode along. Once, he taught me to hoe corn beneath an orange sunset. I didn’t help when he slaughtered a pig. I covered my head in a pillow against the squeals.