A year later, my mom decided to move us to Florida to live with my grandparents. I went along; I had no say. It fit my plan well in my case. Out of sight, out of mind. Memories of my father became memories of cold, unforgiving weather, of streets piled with black ice and trash. I was a blue sky, hot sand, warm water tropical kid now. Dads didn't live in these alligator climes. There was no danger of running into a dad down here in the sunny swamp.

Excerpt From: Gottschlich, Robert. “Ten Acres in Malibu.”