It was raining in Tupelo when I pulled the car into a gravel lot beside Elvis Presley’s childhood home. It was 2018. I stepped inside, paid the fee, and my daughter Gabby and I began to wander through the shotgun house. There wasn’t much to see in the two-room home, and it was easy to tell that Gabby wanted to get back on the road. My detour idea was simply another way of slowing down the…
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