to all you fathers-that-are and fathers-in-waiting.
To my own father, flying between continents, even though you've refused to get me anything from Vienna and got me nothing from Tokyo last week. I cannot get you on the phone right now, but I hope you are happy and relaxed as I write this.
To the father I have at home here who refused to take his son for a haircut because he didn't think the barbarshop full of other fathers would be able to handle his Bhablet while V had his own hair cut. I don't know what your son will give you -- he started the morning with some smelly potty and a big grin -- but I hope you like it.