Happy Fathers' Day

For me, the apostrophe is after the "s" and the gratitude goes out to three different wonderful men: To dear Randy, who is the best father my girls could possibly have; to my Uncle Phil, for all the years he cared for me; and to my father, whose love for me is the strongest and surest memory I have of him.

 Randy and the girls and me in Mexico, May 2013, for the wedding of my niece and the girls' cousin Maggie.

 

Phil's laugh was booming, but his giggles squeezed out of him in a high pitched rasp that you couldn't help but fall into.

My dad, Ronald Fey, Sr., with a Super 8 camera in his lap and tired little me at some sort of Old Wild West Town family outing. Either summer, 1967, when I'm two and a half, or 1968, the last summer we had together.