Friday Tale ~ The Power of Presence T he last time my father, Frank, drove a car, he left it idling in the driveway for three hours — keys in the ignition, radio softly playing an oldies station from the 60s. A neighbor had to come knock on the door. That was the day we knew. The world, for him, had to get smaller. He’s 87 now. His universe has shrunk to the four walls of the home he built in 1968, after coming back from Vietnam. His longest journey these days is from the old leather armchair — the one molded perfectly to his shape — to the porch swing out front. There, with his coffee and his silence, he watches the world move on without him. I drove down last Sunday. Not because it was his birthday, or a holiday, but because of that quiet, guilty feeling in my gut that said, go while you still can. He was in his chair, as always, the TV too loud and the coffee too strong. When he saw me through the screen door, his face softened into that slow, worn smile I’d been missing...