THE DAILY WORLD (ABERDEEN, WASHINGTON) -- I was a 22-year-old aspiring sports writer, beginning my final semesters as a journalism major at San Francisco State University. It was a Friday afternoon, and I had made my way from the beach side of San Francisco — where I lived — to my father’s downtown office for our weekly lunch get-together.
Now, understand, my father and I were very different people — especially at that time of our lives. He was a high-powered corporate attorney and GOP operative — very Type A, quite pragmatic and extremely thoughtful. I was a happy-go-lucky kid, very day-to day Type B, whose favorite pastime was Grateful Dead concerts.