Fathers Day

I loved my father. Fathers and sons playing catch – what is it about throwing that baseball back and forth in the yard, anyway? We did so many other things together, after all. So many things shared and remembered by sons long after Dad has passed away, memories that both stir the heart and catch painfully in the throat. But that little, repetitive activity was somehow kind of personal and private and precious. Throw and catch, throw and catch, over and over. It was simple, it was fun, and it didn’t intrude on what we shared, the simple pleasure of…

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