My father was a military man.  He was an athlete, an artist, a music lover, a charming smart-ass who always had a clever retort.  He was a 6’6″ giant and there was nothing scarier than his tennis racket sized hands, though he rarely had to lift them to make my brother and I behave.  He seemed to literally be the “Big Man On Campus” on our small Air Force Base.  As kids, we couldn’t go anywhere without someone recognizing him and wanting to talk for a few minutes.

When I was 9, my little league team was the Cubs, we were in 1st place.  We were playing the Pirates, they were in last place.  It wasn’t hard to tell why, their coach was negative and aggressive, yelling at players and taunting the other team.  I was at bat and he was screaming at the pitcher “C’MON SON PUT IT DOWN…