Page One
So why have I used such an arcane word for a title, when I could have used “preface,” or some other equally familiar synonym? Because this arcane word is from the Greek, as many arcane words are, and my father was half Greek. And because he was delighted, occasionally, when, as a student of Greek in college, I would bring home a doozie for him. A Greek word moved to English, like prolegomena, or one that was never sucked up by other cultures and remained a purely Greek alphabet soup. He at times got a kick out of such things. 
The man had a quirky sense of humor, and was not the only person ever born about whom that can be said. Actually, so does my mother, so I inherited it from both sides, and maybe that’s one of the things that drew them together as young people in the first place. There are scores of details to remember about this, I think, exceptional man, and they’re not all happy or pleasant. So many people, after someone they love has died, seem to filter out all the negatives and just remember the good stuff. I don’t have any fondness for this practice. For one thing, I consider it to be denial, and I think denial is always psychologically dangerous. Not that I’ve eliminated my own human propensity for denial (I haven’t), but I’m always on the lookout for it, eyeing it warily. And for another thing, erasing a person’s dark spots after they have died is not truth, and I have, many people have told me, too tenacious a regard for the truth.
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