As a child, I thought my parents were perfect. I wondered if they were really my parents, if maybe there had been a switch at the hospital or some immaculate intervention they would disclose to me once I was older. I sometimes imagined them dying: in a car crash, on an airplane, murdered by evil villains, and I would feel a strange mix of profound relief and sadness right before asking God for forgiveness. Their love was overwhelming, and I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to be what they wa. . .

As a child, I thought my parents were perfect. I wondered if they were really my parents, if maybe there had been a switch at the hospital or some immaculate intervention they would disclose to me once I was older. I sometimes imagined them dying: in a car crash, on an airplane, murdered by evil villains, and I would feel a strange mix of profound relief and sadness right before asking God for forgiveness. Their love was overwhelming, and I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to be what they wa. . .