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Not That You Asked . . . I dedicate this discussion to my Dad, who was brilliant, with a near eidetic memory and a masterful command of the English language, such that he might wax eloquent at the least provocation and having an understanding of so much that was and is might connect one thing to another in the middle of a sentence shifting to what might seem an all together different subject, then interject, “not that you asked” . . . I may be the least of my father’s children, but I do what I can . . . |
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but I did . . . |
Ok, maybe you did too? |
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