Dear Erika,
Of course it's a story. Every writer knows that writing a story is only half the job. Reading a story is the other half. I write with a certain idea in mind, but readers have different minds. They have their own histories, and I cannot (and do not wish to) control that.

It's like looking at a painting. What do I see? Probably not what the artist sees. The same with this story. You have the memory of your father, who you feel was wronged. And then there's Yung.

Cambodia and South Africa are not distractions. They are exactly to the point. But that's the way I see it. You bring to it something else.

And if we are not free to discuss this, then we are not free. An open exchange of ideas is good.

I love your ideas (even when I don't agree with them). I was reading your blog about memory as I went to sleep last night. An apt blog in this discussion. Today I had lunch with family and so put off writing a comment there. Later, you will get feedback on that most interesting post.

What I find really, really interesting is that we both had "villains" as fathers, although you do not see yours that way. I'm afraid mine was a nasty character--my mother never, ever said an unpleasant word about him. It was his actions, and his words, that created the impression of villainy.
You see how we come to this story from opposite poles and yet the same place? Isn't the human psyche fascinating?

Your good friend, who is a generation apart and yet close in so many ways,
AG