For a big man, Steve Myrick did not loom. Instead, he listened.

I am driving with my son Hardy on I-95 south, headed for our first college tour. Hardy is 17, a senior in high school.

You never forget your first library, especially the one you walk to on your own, step through the doors with no adults trailing you, and enter a world of books with your brand new library card.

I am being driven around the Island by my son Hardy, from Oak Bluffs to Edgartown, across to Vineyard Haven, then up through West Tisbury, Chilmark and Aquinnah.

One summer, about nine years ago, when my daughter was three years old and the Rev. Raphael Warnock came for his annual visit, she grabbed him by the hand.

We are gathered on the porch, exchanging presents, sharing some champagne and crackers too.

For many years, instead of eating Thanksgiving dinner I called up the local health club and asked if I could use their sauna.

I liked to read a lot as a child, my specialty being books about animals, who of course died on the way to a tear-filled ending.

“Dad, tell me about the old days, when life was normal and we could go out and do things, like play with friends and drive off-Island for adventures.”