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My father had been assigned to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base for just a few months when a presidential candidate came to our suburban community.

Though I was still in kindergarten, my father took me to hear the speech delivered in a bowling alley parking lot. Of course, he realized the address would mean nothing to me. But maybe he thought I would want to be able to say I had seen this man, a fellow World War II veteran. I just don't know.

I remember my father held me up several times to make sure I got a glimpse of the person at the microphone. He wouldn't have put me on his shoulders because that would have blocked the view of the people behind us.

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The Slice

The online home for Paul Turner's musings and interactions with disciples of The Slice.



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