My family has always been mobile. My mother moved here from the Philippines in the seventies with an associates degree from the lesser known MIT: Mapua Institute of Technology. My father took his mechanical engineering degree from Massachusetts to chase the jobs where they led him: South Africa, San Francisco (where he met my mother), Arizona (where I was born), Nevada, Montana, before finally settling our family in Pittsburgh, where the pay was pretty good and you could buy a big house in the suburbs with good schools on a single income.
In a much smaller way, I’ve tried to do the same. After deciding small town Pennsylvania wasn’t where I wanted to spend my college years, I followed a girl I met at a party out to San Diego to try for a fresh start. With no car and no job lined up, and technically being a college drop-out, I had faith that things would work out. They did, even if the relationship didn’t.
I ended up with an English degree earned in the evenings and, years later, I met Mrs. Done by Forty. Expensive as the city was, we had a good life in San Diego. But in 2009, when