“Would you like to come up to the cabin this weekend?” When I was 11 or 12 years old this was the most earnestly hoped for invitation of the summer. The cabin, a simple little house on a northern Wisconsin lake, belonged to the family of my oldest and dearest childhood friend. For me, going to the cabin was about more than swimming, boating, and all-around outdoor fun. Going to the cabin was a much-needed break from the monotony and loneliness of most of the summer weekends of childhood. My dad was an over-the-road trucker. On the rare summer weekends when he was home, we savored time tog...