My sisters, my brother, my mother, were she alive — any of these — could tell you as can I of what was the ritual in our little house in Philadelphia every single night. My father would ask three questions and insist that they be answered and verified. One, “Was the back door locked?†(The back door locked with a little bolt.) He never asked about the front door. Two, “Has the light in the cellar been put out?†He never asked about lights anywhere else. Three, “Are you sure that all of the jets on the gas range have...
