There is a place on Lincoln Boulevard in Venice that sells fire wood. It has a tower of wood neatly stacked right in the front, and this mountain looms large over the street as you pass. You really can't miss it. Every time I drive by it I think of my dad.
The reason is that when I was a youth and we would visit Los Angeles, my dad would marvel at the stack. He would even drive out of our way just to pass by it, and no matter how many times he saw it he would always have the same excited reaction. He'd turn to me and say "You see that, Irwin? A perfect stack of fire wood! As far as the eye can see! Oh, I love that."
And each time he would say that to me I would smile and nod knowingly. But I never told him my secret shame. The truth that I hid from him all these years is that I really had no idea what the hell he was so excited about.
However, many years have passed since then. And I've grown up and matured into a man and have a greater understanding of the world. So now when I drive by it I look up, and I realize something: I still have no idea why it's cool.