at the Keats estate, it felt sacred.
People ask sometimes whether I regret the confrontation, whether I wish I had handled it more gently. I do not. Gentleness is a gift for the remorseful. The Keats family had mistaken my daughter’s patience for permission, and by the time I reached that shed, the time for delicate conversation was over.
I am not proud of many things in this life without qualification. But I am proud that when my daughter needed a door opened, I did not stand on the lawn negotiating with the people who locked it.
I opened it.
And no one ever put her back inside.