Ira Glass

Pete asks his dad.

This drive for Pete, alone with his dad, turned out to be kind of a big moment in his life.

Before the drive, if he had to describe his family, it wasn't hard.

He could do it in two words.

Good cook?

The way Pete remembers it, he did salmon sundaes, made a great pot roast, had a pizza that he'd make on Fridays.

His mom was the one who'd make sure they did their homework and cleaned their rooms.

She was direct and more talkative than their dad.

It was really quiet.

Okay, and so now he is in the car with his dad.

Shuts the two of them.

Dad pulls out of the driveway.

Did you know he worked for the CIA?

No.

Where'd you think he worked?

But now, on this sheet of paper, listed all the different countries that Pete had lived with his parents, Germany and the Netherlands and Jamaica, countries where Pete had always thought that his dad was going off to an embassy or consulate every day to work for the State Department.

This stunned him.

His daddy could kind of see.

His daddy was quiet, like somebody who keeps secrets.

And were they the kind of CIA employees who, you know, analyze data and sit at a desk, work a desk?