Visiting relatives as a child came with a lot of internal ambivalence. I enjoyed the stories, hated stringing green beans, had a blast playing horseshoes or croquet, and cringed every time someone said I was “a shepherd”. What did that mean anyway? One aunt kept calling me by my Dad’s name, apologized, and remarked how much I look like my Dad. Then she would do it all over again in the same visit. Is that what it meant to be a shepherd? I just look like my Dad?

read more