Dad, you know that cradle you built? The one that you stayed late after work to finish? The one that you sanded with your own hands? All of our family knew you made it for us. Your friends knew, too. You're teacher, the man who taught you your craft, had seen the cradle himself and knew it to be beautiful.

Do you remember how you felt when you and Gregg got into that fight...

...and the cradle that we all slept in as babies was broken?

All that time you spent planing the wood, staining, all the memories of the times you laid one of us to sleep at night...

It all laid there, broken on the floor.


And you can't understand how I feel?

kln