IT WAS 1982 - the healthiest and happiest year of our fifteen- year-old son, Jonathan, since his first of four brain surgeries nine years before. Bob, Diahann, Jonathan, and I loaded our suitcases into the trunk of our 1978 powder blue Buick and sped off to New York City on a summer vacation. Among the list of stops was the huge, copper-clad lady standing knee deep in the New York Harbor. At first sight, her magnitude was awe-inspiring and indescribable. We rode an elevator upward to the base of her dress and slowly strolled around her perimeter. For reasons known only to God, I took a...
IT WAS 1982 - the healthiest and happiest year of our fifteen- year-old son, Jonathan, since his first of four brain surgeries nine years before. Bob,...