Lee Wochner: Writer. Director. Writing instructor. Thinker about things.


Father’s Day

My father, extreme right, some time in the 1940s, long before I was born, out for drinks with my Aunt Anne, my Uncle Heinrich (“Heinie”), my maternal grandmother, and my mother. Before the kids came, my parents were young and beautiful. 

My dad was a great father who always indulged my passions and whims, even when they didn’t align with his own. Took me to New York City and then other cities for comic-book conventions even though he hated cities and going to them, taught me to fish and shoot and canoe and camp, introduced me to the fellowship of men being men, inspired me to love history, taught me not to bet on the card to come, and most of all was open-minded about my strange array of friends, because friends are and were important and he had weirdo friends himself.

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