1. When she was my age, my mother had a boyfriend who broke her leg. Later, after she'd married my father, he sent her an apology letter. He was in the army, learning how to hurt people in more sophisticated, innovative ways.

2. My father has never owned a gun. Once he bought a BB gun to kill the rats that lived under our house, and my mother wouldn't talk to him until he got rid of it. He likes to go fishing, but he throws back everything he catches.

3. After my mother received the apology letter, I was born. I was born lopsided with scoliosis, and would always walk with a limp. I know acquired characteristics can't be inherited, but late at night I would sometimes blame my limp on the broken leg that boyfriend gave my mother.

4. My father watches the same documentary about the Civil War every year, starting on Thanksgiving. The rest of the year, he watches baseball. He sees nothing patriotic about hurting people in sophisticated, innovative ways. He never reminds us that his father fought in World War II.

5. We've all inherited a war. I don't know if wars are acquired characteristics or not. My father inherited World War II, but not enough to pass on to me. I inherited my mother's war instead. My spine is bent and I stay away from strong boys with big hands.

6. Now I am driving through the Columbia River Gorge with a thin boy with dark eyes. Like my father, he listens to Neil Young and wears flannel. He inherited a war that makes him stay away from beer and wine and other bottled poisons. Everyone in his family inherited that same war, but he will be the first one to not let it hurt him in sophisticated, innovative ways.

7. In the winter the Gorge is all the colors we like, all the grays and gray-browns and gray-greens. As we drive we make plans for a new war in which we will knock down all the buildings and rip up all the concrete. That way, our children will only inherit a restored world with trees and wild, undammed rivers.