Larry Aubry Remembrance
When I was growing up, I didn’t understand what my father did for a living. I knew what he did was serious and important, not easily described to kids like me. I never asked questions about it, though I did try to figure it out by listening to him around the house, eavesdrop. I was drawn to his mysterious work because I sensed it was not only something my father did as a job, it was who he was—how he saw the world, what he believed in. These things were one and the same. I knew this because he never came home and put down his briefcase and officially put his work away, relaxed into dinner and home life. His work was truly all encompassing, present in the most casual conversations or when he wasn’t talking at all. And whatever this work was, I assumed only he could do it. It seemed unique to him.
