Hey-Hey, Here's the part where I come in.
Very tender and proud.
The story about the chickadee, it's all true. I remember being in absolute thrall of his magic and then of holding the tiny bird on my finger. This is all so very bitter sweet, thinking of being carried on his shoulders. I have very few vivid memories of my dad on his feet, and one of the most heart-rending parts of experiencing someone you love's decline is that after they are gone, the memories of their illness are so much more clear and immediate than those of them in thier vitality. Reliving these particular memories in his lovingly pleonastic prose is luxurious, for me.