Forty years ago I built forts on Bird Creek, raced at the roller rink, and watched my dad run for mayor of Temple.
Readers respond to the June 2016 issue.
I never knew my father, a decorated World War II pilot who died before I was born. But a trek at age 67 to the site where his airplane crashed brought me closer to him than I’d ever dared hope.
Two tales of fathers and sons.
I always knew that the work my dad did as an Episcopal priest and grief counselor was important. But I didn’t understand how important until the birth of my son.