In less than 4 hours on the Saturday before this Father’s Day the following occurred: I picked up my youngest son’s bike from the shop, where the flat tire was repaired, and we added a suspension fork to make riding more comfortable and fun; The AAA guy came by, broke into our car, where the only key had been locked in by one of our teenage drivers who was in a hurry rushing to the next thing and got locked out with all their stuff in the vehicle (we made this young driver tip the AAA guy for his help); Cheered on my son in a championship game where he had some great rebounds, a put-back shot, and won the tournament with his awesome team; Paid for multiple flights of one child headed out of the country to end the summer doing humanitarian trips. This is the opposite of what our lives were like a decade ago, when they were 7, 6, 5, and 1.  Those were days of diapers, crawling all over us at all hours, snot, eye goobers, laughter, playdates, binkies covered in sand and hair, parks, endless sunscreen, RV trips, wonder and excitement, every meal around