When I was 13 or 14 years old, I had a paper route. I remember one Sunday I was delivering those monstrously large Sunday papers loaded into my wagon. Now, this was in a Pittsburgh winter and there was quite a bunch of snow on the ground and I was freezing. However, my wagon broke down about a third of the way through my route. I went back home in distress, but soon after my Dad arrived home. He was a fireman and had just returned from night turn. Surely, he was as tired as could be, but he put his jacket, gloves, and scarf back on, walked with me down to Lincoln Ave where I had left my wagon. He loaded up a bunch of papers into the shoulder carrying bag we had and helped me deliver the rest of my route. Now, that's a Dad.