Like I did, Trent spends much of his childhood racing around on his bike from one fascinating place to another. I also wondered if, like me, he was lulled to sleep by the roar of lions at the zoo, pounding ocean surf and the monotone of foghorns.
Those times can never be duplicated, unless you demolish hundreds of homes, cart away the ruins and convert the land into a massive playground. If there is a real “Sons of the Desert,” the men’s club parodied in Laurel and Hardy films, then I want to join. I was truly a son of the desert of sand dunes that once formed a checkerboard that ended at the Pacific.