In the front yard on a Sunday, my daughter leaps into the arms of a guy who’s not her dad, uncle or grandpa. She climbs into his lap and demands he read her a book. During a grocery run, she calls for him from the seat of the shopping cart. While I try to lull her to sleep in the seclusion of her upstairs bedroom, she sits up straight, not tired at all, and asks to go downstairs to see her friend.
“Meetch? Meetch? An dah-ddy.”