For as long as I can remember, my father was a captivating storyteller. During hurricane season when rain lashed the windows and wind rattled the shades to reveal lightning, he would gather us under his protective voice with these enticing words: "Come over here and sit by me, I feel a story coming on." He'd make himself comfortable in his easy chair in the warm kitchen while we scrambled to gather at his feet on the bare linoleum floor. The youngest child might try to squeeze into my father's chair but eventually ended up on the floor with the rest of us. Papa needed space for his arm...