There’s a certain type of son who loves his father deeply but cannot sit in a room alone with him for more than twenty minutes — not because there’s anything wrong, but because neither of them was ever taught what men say to each other when nothing needs fixing
I have noticed, over a long time, that there is a twenty-minute limit on the kind of conversation I can have alone in a room with my father. Not because of any conflict between us. Not because we don’t love each other. The limit is structural, almost mechanical, and once I unders…