I don’t need a reason this week because, like you, I have Father's Day on my mind. It’s the holiday of misshapen pancakes served in bed, handmade cards, and those stapled paper and crayon books full of coupons for free hugs and back scratches. The day and the gifts are a welcome reminder from my wife and children that I'm not doing quite as poorly as I generally think I am.
Some have asked why I write so often about my dad. It's a fair question. My father and his legacy have crept into several of my novels and many of my columns. I suppose writing about my father shortens the distance between me and whatever heavenly project he’s working on today.
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