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So, holiday weekend. I spent it fussing over a sick toddler. What does that mean? She can talk just enough to make sure that we know she feels sick, and she's pretty adamant about letting us know.

Her fever broke in time for me to get sentenced to the roof to grill on Memorial Day. I wanted to just go to a street festival, but there I was, stuck slaving over the fire. I usually don't mind, but - you know, I was remembering how my old man used to get about his grill. He only had time to mess with it once, maybe twice a year, and he acted like it was a sacred ritual. Of course, any summer evening when he broke out the grill also included enough beer to float the neighborhood. He even passed me a few, letting me get a minor buzz that'd mess up my ballgame, and he and the old lady would get along great for a few hot hours.

The more I see him in the mirror, the more I wonder why he did what he did, and I wonder what I can do differently.