Mastermind

Description

When I was nearly nothing, my father used to peruse us Sherlock Holmes stories before bed.

While my sibling regularly accepted the open door to fall immediately snoozing on his

corner of the love seat, all of us listened eagerly. I recollect the enormous cowhide

rocker where my father sat, holding the book out before him with one arm,

the moving blazes from the chimney reflecting in his dark encircled glasses. I

recall the ascent and fall of his voice as the anticipation mounted past all

limits, lastly, at long last, finally the anticipated arrangement, when it all

seemed well and good and I’d shake my head, much the same as Dr. Watson, and think.