A message from my father
"A Message From Dad" Years ago, when my oldest daughter—now 22—was just one year old, we had a Sunday ritual. Every week, we’d walk into town, visit the park, and browse the shops. One Sunday, we stumbled upon a psychic fair at the town hall. Curious, I decided to check it out. The hall was packed. I could barely push the stroller through the crowd. Suddenly, a woman touched my shoulder and said, “Excuse me, excuse me—I have a message for you.” Skeptical, I responded, “Well, I’m not paying for any message,” and started to walk away. She called after me, “No, I don’t want money. I’ve just been told I have to give you this message, even though it makes absolutely no sense to me.” That stopped me in my tracks. If she wasn’t after money, I was intrigued. I turned to listen. She said, “A man appeared to me. A nice-looking man, about 28 years old. He’s wearing stubby denim shorts and jandals. He’s sitting on a couch with a flagon of beer, a transistor radio, and a folded-up newspap...