Before I was born, my dad worked for a NASA contractor and was stationed on Grand Turk. So growing up I heard all kinds of stories about what life was like on a Caribbean island before the tourists came. About the tiny airport that, from the old photo, looks as if it could have doubled as a beach bar (it probably did). About the real bar where Americans drank endless rounds of beer and played endless rounds of darts. And how the tedium of his job of tracking satellites could be broken only by a walk along the utterly deserted beach. My father’s tales have inspired a lifelong spark to see — no, feel — Grand Turk, perhaps while sailing the new Carnival Breeze. I’ll snorkel with stingrays at Gibb’s Cay, just offshore, and see the replica of John Glenn’s Friendship 7 capsule (which splashed down here in 1962) at the cruise-ship pier. Maybe I’ll rent a car and tour the island. And when I do, I’ll be seeing not only the sights, but my father’s memories too.