But I have to be careful not to let the world dazzle me so much that I forget that I’m a husband and a father.
Aeneas carried his aged father on his back from the ruins of Troy and so do we all, whether we like it or not, perhaps even if we have never known them.
One of my earliest memories is of my father carrying me in one arm with a picket sign in the other.
I grew up not liking my father very much. I never saw him cry. But he must have. Everybody cries.
As a little girl I used to daydream about my real father coming on a white horse to rescue me.