Sobriety A black and white RCA TV was the theatre in our first home. One evening as I slouched on the sofa, our year and a half old daughter Sarah toddled into the room. She glanced first at the TV and then to me. She determined to climb up onto the couch. She wriggling her body and grunted like an Olympic power lifter until she conquered the summit. Having arrived, she proceeded to sprawl upon the cushions in scrupulous duplication of her father—right down to folding her arms across her chest. It occurred to me that I was being watched closely. The thought was both amusing and terrifying. What was she seeing in me that might not be so wise to copy? It was the moment every parent comes to—di

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