My son Steve is 43 today. Here we are in the summer of 1983 when he was 12, dodging a Lake Michigan wave on the pier at Frankfort, Mich. I was only 38 then – significantly younger than Steve is today.
Steve has grown into an exemplary man – good husband, doting father, and world-class musician. (One of his friends opined that he is the best jazz bass player in Las Vegas and I have no reason to doubt it.)
Considering that I had all the parenting skills of Homer Simpson, I see both of my sons as miracles and a continual source of pride.
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