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A Few Hours in Brighton - Meet the Wildes
We used to go to Brighton all of the time when I was small. My grandparents were fearless; they would take my sister and I anywhere, in the car or on a plane, for days or weeks at a time. And it just so happened that they lived an hour or so from Brighton, and so we came to know it well. When I think of days out with my grandparents, I think of pink sunglasses taking up half of our faces, pebbled beaches, and that tiny caterpillar ride that went through the apple, that my grandparents placated us was a roller coaster. It’s bittersweet. My grandmother died when I was twenty-two or so; after all of the effort she put in to raising me, she never got to see me as a mother. And my grandfather is so proud of us, and so enchanted by his great-grandchildren, but he…