I went down to breathe some air. I find a swing, lie down on it, and swing breezily. A young girl, maybe seven or eight years old, comes over to me: “Would you like to be my daddy?” I smile and ask her, “Why, where’s your daddy?” “My father just died in the war in Gaza.” I’ve never been so choked up in my life. I got up, smiled to the mother sitting on the bench, and went back home. I walked into my apartment and went to wash the tears off my face quickly. You only feel the pain when it comes close to you. And that was one hell of a punch to the gut.
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