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A father, and one like a father

May 11, 2012
By Ken Youngblood

As kids on the farm, my brother and I would celebrate the end of the evening milking by racing from the milk house to the kitchen. He would win every time, but one day I was two strides ahead. For whatever reason he pushed me through the storm glass window of the kitchen door. I wasn't hurt, but when Father saw the shards of glass strewn across the linoleum, he picked my brother up by both heels and spun him in circles face down, grazing the pea gravel of the driveway.



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