I've been thinking about fathers, good fathers, and how hard they've got it. Sometime ago, they were subject to stereotype, told emotions were for girls, and highfivesnohugs/dryeyesalways policies. Somewhere they learned to have daughters - sharp, sometimes conniving daughters. Somehow my Dad raises me and my sister in a culture completely different than his own; one he understands but does not approve. He raises us grand, great and proud. Seeking only the best, he gives all he's got. Some fathers have a hundred dollars and give $20 of it to their kids. My Dad has a $5, then he'll give a $5. He'll keep nothing for himself, except his dreams. He can be as stubborn as wet sand, as jittery as a swatted fly, and as gentle as a fluffy summer cloud, but he emerges heroic. Everyday.