It was 1963 or 4, summer, br and my father was driving our family br from Ft. Hood to North Carolina in our 56 Buick. br We'd been hearing about Klan attacks, and we knew br br Mississippi to be more dangerous than usual. br Dark lay hanging from the trees the way moss did, br and when it moaned light against the windows br that night, my father pulled off the road to sleep. br br Noises br that usually woke me from rest afraid of monsters br kept my father awake that night, too, br and I lay in the quiet noticing him listen, learning br that he might not be able always to protect us br br from everything and the creatures besides; br perhaps not even from the fury suddenly loud br through my body about his trip from Texas br to settle us home before he would go away br br to a place no place in the world br he named Viet Nam. A boy needs a father br with him, I kept thinking, fixed against noise br from the dark.