“It is!” my dad says, and gets very excited about it. “That’s exactly what that is! Isn’t that incredible?” He picks it up and turns it over, feeling the weight of it as though it might be from another planet or something. “When did you go to the Berlin Wall, honey?” My sister looks at him, dumbfounded.

“Don’t you remember?” my sister says. “I went with Mom and Aunt Amy.”

“I don’t remember that,” my dad says. “How old were you?” He remembers nothing. Like he’s losing his mind. How could he not remember something like that? His own daughter going to the Berlin Wall. He’s not that old to be losing his mind but he is.

“Where was I?” my dad says.

“You must’ve stayed home,” my sister says.

“I must have,” he says.