One of my fondest memories of my father is the night he taught me how to write my name.

I was little, sitting at a Fisher-Price table with a new arts-and-crafts set, drawing with crayons. My mother had gone to bed. I think my father had gone in to check on her or say good night, leaving me sitting at the little table by myself.

When he came back out, I proudly showed him what I had written on my paper: “Look, I wrote my name!” I remember exclaiming proudly. I had written the letters “K.T.” on a paper with pink crayon.

"KT." A little girl’s phonetic attempt at spelling my actual name, "Kaytee."

“Let me show you how to spell it,” I remember him saying with a smile. It was........

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