So…my first Father’s Day without someone to call, give a card to, take out for Korean BBQ. Passages. Generations fall away. On one of our living room shelves is my favorite photo of my dad for as long as I can remember - a picture of him in a plaid shirt, carrying me on his shoulders. I was maybe a year old. But it’s my favorite. Probably for different reasons at different times in my life, yet always with the same underlying reason: a son on his father’s shoulders. Our fathers are men; they are not perfect. But we all are lifted upon their shoulders. We don’t “stand on the shoulders of giants.” Rather, we are borne on the shoulders of genuniely human men who loved, failed, tried, succeeded, and maybe failed some more. He is not here anymore. He never will be again. But I am in a space that he helped lift me into. And from there, I am to lift my daughter and son. As fathers, our shoulders are not just our own; they carry the weight of all the generations to come. What a privilege, and a gift. Happy Father’s Day, gents.