I lost my dear father one year ago this past March and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of him and either cry or smile (usually both at the same time.) Summer is here and sweet memories of moments that we spent together gently float into my mind like conversations with old friends.

When I was a teenager, my dad insisted that our entire family spend ten days together fishing in northern Maine. My mother had the arduous task of coralling two teens, one preadolescent and my youngest brother together and convince us that the trip was going to be a fun.We moaned the entire five hour trip up to Maine from the back of the station wagon. My father allowed us one stop so that we could visit the gas station restroom and drive through MacDonald’s. He knew that the cheeseburger would put us in better moods. The first 24 hours were always rough because we kids argued a lot. The truth is, we simply weren’t used to being together in a cabin without television or phones.

By the third day, the tussling lessened and something miraculous happened. My older brother and I chatted about…