The other night, while picking out a Christmas tree with my family, an older man approached me, holding a bouquet of holly branches. “I’m in love with your wife,” he told me.

I was talking to a fellow dad the other day, the two of us sharing a beer on the porch. “Do you think it’s more sad or weird when a kid leaves home?” my friend asked.

For a big man, Steve Myrick did not loom. Instead, he listened.

I am driving with my son Hardy on I-95 south, headed for our first college tour. Hardy is 17, a senior in high school.

You never forget your first library, especially the one you walk to on your own, step through the doors with no adults trailing you, and enter a world of books with your brand new library card.