I can tell Michael isn't satisfied with this response, but I'm not finished.
        “For some kids like Daniel, the Army used to be a good career. The Army gives you discipline and takes care of you.”
        “Why used to be?”
        “The Army's different now. More technology. You have to be smarter, better educated to be a soldier these days.”
        Michael nods. “Forrest Gump wouldn't make it in the Army today.”
        I don't want to say this, but I have to. “Actually, the people at Menninger's who tested Daniel claim he's not nearly as smart as Forrest Gump. They say Daniel's IQ is lower.”
        “Lower?” Michael's features twist into a look of near-horror.
        “By about 30 points, according to their tests.”
        Michael's eyes grow moist before he speaks again. “Do you believe them?”
        I shrug. “IQ tests measure only certain kinds of abilities. Your mother and I both believe Daniel's more capable than those tests show. All I can tell you is Daniel's going to have the best chance in life we can give him.”
        We've reached the lookout at the bend in the road. Below us, the former pineapple plain stretches all the way to the gilded horizon, where the sun is disappearing behind a pinkening cloud bank. Together, Michael and I turn and look back at the pine tree-studded oasis of Lana`i City. I can't help but think of the pension men and their families I've been interviewing for the last six weeks, and the waves of settlers—Hawaiians, Americans, Japanese, Filipinos, and the rest—who built and rebuilt this island community over its history. In this way they weren't unlike your own great grandparents, your mother's grandparents and my own, who came to the New World from Germany and Czechoslovakia and the Ukraine, propelled by the dream of a shining new life in a faraway land across a great sea. As the sun sinks behind us now, the earthy colors of the tiny plantation town glow and fade and blaze up again, as if we were watching the evolution of the community through a kaleidoscope.
        “In the life of a family, there's always a lot at stake, Michael.”
        He sighs. “Is that why you and Mom work so hard?”
        “Yes.”
        “Is that why you're both so sad all the time?”
        I turn and look at him. “We're not sad all the time.”
        He doesn't blink. “You know what I mean, Dad.”

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