Patrick was ten years old at the time. Since he is two years and two days older than me, I was eight on that sunny July 1952 afternoon in our little hometown of Lawler, Iowa. He was fishing off the roof of our back porch on the east side of the house with a cane pole and bare hook, as was his habit. No night crawler was necessary since the nearest...

My four brothers and I frequently share texts. Most involve inane observations or commentary on some sporting event, but they are fun and help keep a small connection going since we live our own lives in five separate states. Brian sent a text the other day that made me stop and think a bit. In it, he stated “Three of the best feelings in the wor...