Editor’s Note: The end portion of Mr. Warde’s column was omitted in error in the previous edition, so it is running this week in its entirety.
It was 1984, a decade after graduating from high school in Delray Beach, Florida. My first-born, a son, was the high-point in my life, though his arrival was not my best of days.
What would transpire in that hospital room in Livonia, Michigan on June 2 would …
