Girls Don’t Do That

One of my earliest memories of my father is of me when I was probably three or four years old sitting on the edge of the tub talking nonstop while my father shaved. He never said much; in fact, I doubt he had a chance. But he was a willing sounding board to the imaginationsContinue reading “Girls Don’t Do That”

My Dad: taking a walk down memory lane

So I’ve started this sentence a dozen times, and each time I get halfway through and then start hitting the backspace until there is once again a clean slate. It’s hard to even know where to begin when trying to describe what I feel about a father. Words really can’t express what I feel, butContinue reading “My Dad: taking a walk down memory lane”