On this Father’s Day weekend, stop to reflect on at least one memory of a special time you spent with your father. Let me share a memory from the fall of 1961.
I was 16 and it was a bright, beautiful Saturday morning, when my dad asked me to ride with him to Cincinnati. He wanted to look at some used cement trucks he was considering for purchase as an addition to his fleet. By the time we’d made the 70-mile trip to the used equipment dealer north of the city, clouds had begun to drop a steady rain on the narrow highway we traveled.
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