A third of the way down the stairs he pulls a chain, and a solitary bulb illuminates the beginnings of the hobby cemetery.

“I forgot about the kites,” I say, shaking my head.

We continue down. We reach the bottom and my dad pulls on another chain.

There are huge piles of parts, accessories, and other various implements of his many distractions, between which my father has somehow carved a foot-wide walkway.

“That whole ship inside the glass thing never really panned out.”

“It’s on the backburner.” He pauses. “For now.”

Right.

“You don’t use that Nordic Track anymore?” AKA, the slim-down phase.

“Oh, every once in a while.”

“That thing has not been used since I left here nine years ago.”

“Once my back is better, I’m gonna use that thing every day.”

I laugh.

We snake through the pottery phase, the piano phase, the inventor phase, and the magic phase.

“That ‘cut-the-girl-in-half box’ was a really good purchase.”

“I was going to perform at birthday parties.”

“Just find me the GPS, Copperfield.”

He pushes a couple boxes out of the way, takes a quick peek inside one, and says, “Here we go.”

He pulls out the small black device and hands it to me. It’s twice the size of the ones that you can buy today, but considering it was only used a handful of times, I’m optimistic it works.

I hit the power button, but nothing happens.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got batteries around here somewhere.”

He moves past me and heads back toward the inventor phase.

I’m near the far wall. In the corner I notice a blue tarp. I was thinking I could use the tarp to help me elude the guys across the street. Drape it over their windshield and make a run for it. I lift a corner of the tarp and see three small black boxes. They are arranged too neatly to be my father’s.

I pull one of the boxes out and flip open the top.

“Found ‘em.”

I turn.

Whatever is in those boxes will have to wait for another day.

A minute later, I’m back upstairs with the coordinates programmed into the GPS.

It is 3:50 a.m.

::::

My room is how I left it. Half boyhood memorabilia, half grown-up CPA. Only having an hour a day means that you are forced to prioritize. Even when it came to cartoons, sports stars, bands, girls, I was forced to pick. And not one of each. One, period. Cartoons were too juvenile, sports were too long, and girls were out of my reach. But music was easy. I could listen to a couple songs a day, and I could have the music on in the background while I traded stocks, did push-ups, or daydreamed about girls.

I chose Prince.