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From The Publisher's Desk
My father was a carpenter, a simple man. But he led a fascinating life that was stopped short by a heart attack a few weeks before his 70th birthday. Dad was born in 1911 — either on Feb. 20 or Feb. 22. His mother swore it was the 22nd, but his birth certificate says the 20th. Either way, had things worked out differently, he’d be 101 this week.
The last time I saw my dad alive and well he was waving good-bye at the Honolulu airport. It was an uncanny twist of fate to leave my parents behind in Hawaii. I had lived there happily for seven years but had decided I wanted to raise my children on the mainland. My parents, who had followed me to Hawaii to be near their only daughter and their twin grandsons, stood firm in their decision to stay. Especially my dad.
He enjoyed the weather and the amenities Oahu had to offer. With his status as a senior citizen he rode the buses for free. He loved that. He sold his Audi and bought a bicycle.
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