By modern standards of childhood development, my father was a failure. He was taciturn, dominated by my mother, and lacked the self-confidence typically prescribed for successful fathers. He never complained. He spent his hours with a pipe and a can of Sir Walter Raleigh tobacco, taking me to cowboy movies and showing me how to tie my shoes. When I played high school football, he never attended. I only learned much later that he sat at home, t…
This story is only covered by news sources that have yet to be evaluated by the independent media monitoring agencies we use to assess the quality and reliability of news outlets on our platform. Learn more here.