Sixty-nine years ago today, my father was born somewhere in Liverpool, England during the middle of World War II. His father was somewhere in Italy and his mother was left alone. He was an only child, though a sister would be born ten years later. I wasn't able to go and see him and my mother today. Frankly, I'd sort of blanked out that Memorial Day and his birthday coincided this year. Instead, I took a day to work around the house and basically relax. It had been a long time since I'd had two days off in a row. But, I was wrong not to try to go and see him. My dad is a very important person and perhaps the biggest influence on who I am today. I grew up idolizing him and wanting to be him. I think I've learned a lot of lessons about self-reliance and self-confidence from him. He and my mother moved over to the United States when they were in their early 20's. They first moved to Canada, but went south because my dad was lured by the prospect of big roads a
Striking down the mundane and dastardly while retaining a certain obscure turn of phrase, denoting something elusive yet concrete.