My father-in-law is quite the raconteur. He had my kids enthralled for over an hour with outrageous tales of his youth.

When the kids were settled in for bed, I posed a question I had long wondered about.

“Hey, Dad. How many of your stories are actually true?”

He smiled and gave me a wink. “I believe all of my stories, whether they actually happened or not. The past is what you make of it.”

I said nothing but simply pondered whether the veracity of one’s youthful memories even mattered.