I just had a strange vision. God came to me in the guise of my sclerotic father. “Sorry, my son,” he stammered. And then he lifted his arms and eyebrows by way of a belated apology. Now, how could you get angry with your poor, old father?! Sclerotic to boot, he deserved nothing but love. Disarmed at last, I shrugged my shoulders, too. And then I felt tears on my cheeks.