Dad didn’t mind being the occasional butt of jokes for living among the “others”—because at least in our home, we didn’t have to try to sleep amid sirens and gunshots. And he didn’t have to worry about whether his children would make it home. In his eyes, the best way to stay alive was to stay out.
We loved our people, but we couldn’t live with them.
Veronica-Marche Miller is a writer and radio producer in Washington, D.C.