Usually, I am jolted into thinking about a story. For “Lost,” that is exactly what happened as I retraced my steps, looking for my watch. I started writing the story that day, my dad’s birthday, March 30, 2011. Walking on the asphalt of the employee’s parking lot, I kept thinking that it was just a watch. But that I still had my dad. My father died before I submitted the story to 3QR, and I never told him about it. I was afraid he would not approve. He might have been offended by my descriptions of him. He would not have wanted to be remembered as old. The fear of hurting him kept me from writing anything for many years. I lacked the courage to tell my stories. But those works that have always resonated with me, as a reader, have been the ones that reveal the truth.