“If I regret anything,” coughed Grandpa, “it’s that I didn’t use the keys that God and circumstance handed me. There were plenty of doors to open, but I never turned their locks.”

“What do you mean?”

I knew there were vikings in the old barn…I could hear them rattling around in the hayloft on windy nights. But I never opened that door, never went in to see for myself. I knew that the typewriter on my desk had worlds inside of it for me to unlock; I could see them. But I never turned those keys. If I’d pushed for it, I might have got a better job than the cannery. But it kept you and your mother well enough, and I was comfortable there, so I never pushed for it.”

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