Jean Renoir, the great French film director, is credited with saying, “The only things that are important in life are the things you remember.”
I remember three boys sitting in a row on the roof of a garage, their knees pulled up under their chins, their arms wrapped around their legs. They aren’t supposed to be up there.
I am one of the boys. My best friend, Tom, is another. I’m not sure who the other is. I’m pretty sure it’s not my younger brother, Pete.
The garage is next to the house my parents built a few years earlier. We have ascended to the roof by putting a ladder against a tree next to the garage, climbing the ladder to a notch in the tree, scaling the tree up to a branch that hung out over the garage, then edging out on