Early on you will get your parenting wrong and you may turn into your child—a creature not fully possessed of words perhaps, a fragile being receiving you mainly through heartbeats and touch, your expressions and heat—you may turn to your child to ask for forgiveness. You’ll say please forgive me and you will be unsure who is speaking and who is spoken to because time will bend in upon itself. You will be a parent seeking forgiveness and a child from years ago wanting and wanting for your someone to say I’m sorry I did that to you. Like this one time when I was eight and my daughter was three, and we were, both of us, afraid of our fathers. And I looked down upon her and through her terrified eyes back at her father, mine. As I formed my mouth to speak, I found nothing but error. We did not want some of what we were given; we wanted things we did not receive. We give what we were given; we give what we wanted. Maybe we need our way toward better. Right there, in the room of tiny parents and tiny children, right there I surrendered to a long-held desire previously unnamed, and what I desired was this: something different for us.