In my earliest years, I was incredibly close to my father. He was my hero. In my eyes, he could do no wrong. When something difficult happened at the Catholic school I attended, my dad was there. He stood up for me. He protected me. As a little boy, I knew my father would be there when I needed him, and I always felt protected by him. Then, when I was fourteen years old, everything changed. In 1968, my father suffered a massive stroke. He remained disabled for the next twenty