I used to fly through the air in my younger days. My flight path took me from the top of the tall spiral staircase in my childhood home down to the waiting arms of my father. I loved jumping into his arms so much that I would sometimes wait at the top of the staircase for him to come walking by; then, without warning, I would launch myself and yell, “Daddy, catch me!” Even in his surprise, and likely at the expense of his lower back, my father always caught me.
My own children seem to have inherited this same desire, albeit without the aid of a very tall staircase. They make do by standing on the...
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