When I look down at my hands typing, I see my father's hands. When I repair a leaky faucet or a flickering lamp, I see my father doing the same thing as I stand by his side, waist-high, holding a flashlight and passing him a wrench or screwdriver. These memories make me wonder about what other aspects of my father-his character, his intelligence, his kindness, humor and artistic talent-are also part of me.
I'm especially interested in this now because I'm writing a book about why fathers matter, about what they contribute to their children, and why we so often seem to undervalue them. And while I'm turning over these questions myself, I'd like your thoughts, too.