We made the familiar, double-edged turn onto Ninth Street when he asked me if I wanted to go see Mrs. Jones' lambs. I blinked foggily as I tried to recall what lambs were, I'd never seen one in person and couldn't remember if they were the fuzzy white things or not. He sensed my hesitation, so made the decision for me. Little did I know that he would taper decisiveness in my life as I grew, as any good father would.

My unease grew as we turned onto a new street, one I had no former memory of. Squat, roundhouses lined the street like teeny watchmen as the Bronco bumped over the dirt road. I clasped tightly to my car seat, blinking wildly as massive cottonwood trees arched over us as if inspecting us—out of sheer curiosity or some pernicious reason, I couldn't be sure.

I jumped when my dad snaked a steel-coiled arm behind his seat and grasped one of my feet. He squeezed gently, blue and pink lights danced around the cabin as my sneakers came to life.

Dad, I giggled, you tickled my feet and made my shoes light up. My fear melted as he squeezed again, colors bounded around me.

He laughed. His laugh was a mixture of sheer, unadulterated joy and a grizzly bear. I came to be thankful that I recorded it within my mind's eye.

I quickly forgot my anxiety as the Bronco rumbled to a halt. Peaking out, I saw a wide, green-covered field sitting pleasantly beside a delicately fashioned house. Butterflies decorated the front door as if wafting off to a place unknown.

Dad hoisted me onto his hip as he knocked on the fantastic butterfly door. I peered around him, impatiently. I saw no lambs, or at least I didn't think I did. I couldn't be sure as I'd never seen one in the first place.

The door opened, and a little lady with wild, graying hair appeared. She smiled warmly, and she and dad exchanged some friendly words. I didn't so much care what was said, as long as I got to see the lambs.

I hugged tightly to dad's neck as the little lady led us around the house, on a twisting, moss-covered stone path that I longed to touch. It looked soft and inviting, like cotton candy but twice as awe-inspiring.

Are you ready to see the lambs, dad asked. I blinked into his russet eyes, an exact mirror of my own, and nodded. I was still a bit unsure of what a lamb was.

He set me down, and I saw that the field stretched back and behind the house, a green expanse that, as far as I knew, stretched to the ocean and back. A dilapidated shed stood off to the side, looking rather tired and haggard but the little lady quickly made her way towards it. She disappeared into the open maw of the dark shed; I grasped dad's hand tighter. He squeezed back.