A War Memorial Tour in Kansas City, KS
When I think of my dad, I think of a lot of different things. I think of his hands steadying the seat of my bike as I pedaled my way down the sidewalk. I remember his wink as we both snuck a second popsicle on a hot summer evening. I think of my horror in finding that I’d been placed in his history class in ninth grade, and I think of the sheer joy and pride that shone on his face when I was accepted to college. There are other memories in there too—the furrow in his brow when he grounded me…
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