I remember the time my Dad broke his leg.  An enthusiastic airman had waxed the heck out of the chapel floor and Dad happened to unknowingly stride on the glass like surface.  From the telling of it, it seems that Dad went for quite a sail.

     Laid up in bed for a time, he was a great source of amusement for his daughters.  We’d never had him home all day every day.  Heck, there were times he’d be gone for weeks, traveling off to some exotic place from where he’d bring us each a doll.   (I’ll never see them again.)

    We got to read to him for a change.  I’m sure he was very happy when his leg healed and he could escape back into the real word.