The summer of 1974, when I was five, my parents had just finished putting the final touches on their dream house. They had hired an architect to design their house to their specifications, paid an urban planner to suggest where to build so that the family would get the most out of both suburban and rural life while maximizing the value of the house when it was time to retire, and basically sweated over the millions of details involved in making one’s dreams come true. And it was because of this that it took me almost thirty years to tell my mom the truth behind “The Sprinkler Story”. Continue reading