'A better country' - Daniel Silliman

I remember the green light from the dash reflecting off my dad's glasses. That made a big impression on me.

We were in the big, bouncing, moving truck, driving over the Sierra mountains and crossing the desert at night. I was 9 and my dad was 42. He had cashed out his retirement and was moving his wife and four kids, and everything he owned, across the country. My one brother was asleep in the middle seat, but I was working to stay awake, watching the lights of the freeway and asking my dad about every car he'd ever driven, every job he'd ever had, and everybody he'd ever voted for.