Hatteras Reflections

Every year at Cape Hatteras, I go on a bike ride along a somewhat fixed path, one that goes first to the Cape Hatteras lighthouse, then past a tiny World War II British cemetery, and from there to a National Park Service campground immediately prior to Beach Access Ramp 43. 

There is a mile-and-a-quarter road that rings the campground, and at the end of my ten-mile campground velodrome, I head back north toward Route 12. But I first ride out an abandoned road that goes about a third of a mile, almost to the dunes.

On this day, at the end of the abandoned road, I arrive at what I somewhat jokingly refer to as my own meditation point, mainly to hide my routine from those who might think me nuts or overly religious (even though, truth be told, I tend to be both). I pause and look around at the gray bones of trees long dead from ocean over wash and gather my thoughts. 

I reflect a bit on the fact that I have now officially lived one day longer than the 22,834 days accorded to my father. I realize that I am now officially in uncharted territory. The statute of limitations on being your father’s son never quite runs out, but it certainly takes on a different feel once you live longer than he did. It is in that moment that I decide to see what I can find out about my father’s parents. 

And that began the journey that eventually turned into IMMIGRANT SECRETS - part memoir, part historical fiction, part family history mystery. Available HERE - https://www.amazon.com/Immigrant-Secrets-Search-My-Grandparents/dp/B09HJ8TWHT