I’m standing on Debby Thrasher Smith’s front porch in Ravenna, tightening my trench coat around my waist. The four wind chimes behind me are knocking delicately against each other, and their tinkling...
“Son, can you forgive me?”I’ve been asked that same question from my father three times in my life.The first time my father asked me for forgiveness was when I was six or seven years old.I didn’t...
