My pop is building the Golden Gate Bridge.
Almost every day after school, Charlie Shu and I go to Fort Point and watch.
The bridge will stretch across the bay, from San Francisco to Marin. People said it was impossible. This bridge couldn’t be built. The bay is too deep, the currents too strong, the winds blowing in from the ocean too fierce.
But I know my pop can do it. Whenever I say he’s building the bridge, Mom laughs. “There’s a crew of more than a thousand men working on that bridge, Robert. Including Charlie’s dad,” she reminds me. I know that, but to me, it’s Pop’s bridge.
Pop’s a high-iron man, balancing on the slatted catwalks, spinning and bending the cables. He climbs so high that sometimes clouds…