I remember I was small enough that my legs still dangled in the backseat of the car, only touching the floor at the tips of my toes. It had been a long day of driving and I was getting antsy.

“See that moon, Maggie?” Dad pointed out the window at it, hanging in the sky like a Christmas ornament. I nodded eagerly.

“Well, I’m going to tell you a little secret.” He leaned back, conspiratorial. “That moon up there? It’s my very own pet moon. Keep watching it. See how it follows us?” My mouth hung open as I saw that no matter how much we moved, we couldn’t escape the moon.

Luke, my older brother and the great disbeliever, piped up from next to me, “Nuh-uh, Dad. You’re making that up!” But I continued to watch, spellbound, until we finally pulled into our driveway.

No matter what Luke said, I knew it was true. My daddy was the most special person in the world – he owned the moon.

I was young then. Too young to even doubt that everything my father said was the absolute truth.

It’s been a long time since then.