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As a child, my father was a god to me—at times I loved him, at times I feared him, but I always wanted to be like him. As an adolescent, I resented my father for the sin of being human—for not being the god of my childhood. Then, as a young man, I felt sorry for my father because, in my arrogance, I believed he knew nothing and I knew everything. It was not until I held my own son for the first time that I truly understood my father. Now I can appreciate the man he is and the man he helped me to become.
