Forgiving Your Parents

Growing up, I remember thinking my dad could beat up your dad. I thought my father moonlit as a superior version of Superman. He’d see that we kids were neatly tucked away and then nip out to save widows, orphans, and stray dogs. And then one day my dad had surgery. It wasn’t some huge ordeal, just an attempt to surgically repair a lingering knee issue—perhaps an injury attained from his years of late night heroics? Of course, he told us it was from playing sports as a young man, but he was p...