I’ve been invited to Tar Beach.
But I would rather do what I did yesterday: sit a in a Mexican restaurant, alone, at table facing a family at another table.
Dad is very fatherly, and knows to keep quiet as Mom instructs the girls on how to eat their quesadillas. The older sister is pouty, clearly does not want any part of this tortilla pizza. The younger sister delights in her food and is told not to play with her food.  Mother is a champion because she can sip her margarita and dip her tortilla chip into the guacamole and still field their questions and negotiate suitable answers to their delights and demands.
Dad looks on, sniffing a large piece of cilantro, over and over. He glances at me sternly.
Is he upset that I’m studying him? Them? I smile and nod and look elsewhere.