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November 11, 2012
My father was a shoemaker and my mother was a dancer. If there were a match made more perfectly, it was probably a fairy tale, because the reality of their love was more idyllic than most people would believe. They lived for each other and new the innermost needs and thoughts of the other without a second thought. When my father grew too old and my mother too frail to dance, they comforted each other by holding hands on our rickety porch, drinking homemade lemonade and smiling softly. It seems too boring and patient to be true, and you're right.