Of the myths I tell myself about the past, none is so easily disproved yet so persistently recurrent as the belief that to travel to a site from childhood is to travel back in time. In my childhood are two matching towers of friendly 1970s tropical brutalism. They contain a condo, purchased in advance of the towers’ construction, that hosted my family’s visits to our most uptight set of grandparents. The condo now contains my parents.
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