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Daddy’s girl

Daddy’s girl

One of my earliest memories of my dad was waiting to surprise him when he came home each day from work. I’m sure he saw me way before I saw him, a wiggling 2-year-old trying to hide face down on the living room couch. When he reached the top of the stairs, he’d...

We’re not really strangers

I picked her up at the Phoenix airport around 9 p.m., this tall young woman wearing Converse high-tops painted two different colors, and pants with one leg black and one leg white. Her curly blonde hair was blue now, but I recognized her smile, and the hug felt the...