i have a very vivid memory of my dad and me on the front lawn at our old house.  i must have been six or seven years old, we were sitting in the grass underneath the crape myrtle, and my dad was painting my fingernails.  a couple walked past us on the sidewalk and one of them smiled at me and said, “your nails look very pretty.”  i remember feeling vaguely embarrassed.

when i wonder what having two daughters must have been like for my dad, that’s what i think of.