I still remember the day when I could barely hold the orange pencil that I carried over to my father. After taking a small carving knife from the yellow drawer in the kitchen, he sat in his chair at the red arborite table where he whittled the pencil and told a story from his past. His words captivated my soul while my body shook with laughter. “Haven’t you ever been embarrassed, Dad?” I asked, with wide-eyed wonderment while I giggled behind my little hand. “Only once,” he said blushing, “in grade two, when I asked a girl something I shouldn’t have…” His strong hands moved effortlessly with the wood while…