They are in the back seat of the car singing something by Katy Perry. I don't know the song. But they do. They know every word. They sing the way they run, the way they draw, the way they swing on the monkey bars, the way they dance and play and pretend, the way they do everything. With energy and boundless joy…

I've called him "Mr. I Have a Better Way" since the dawn of time — well, actually since the dawn of us, affectionately, at first. "You are so smart to think of that!" I'd gush in my younger days when I'd be quarreling with something — the oil cap in my old English Ford, for example. It wouldn't budge for me, but he'd come along and patiently cajole it into turning. And I would gush in awe at his competence…