So I find it interesting that chapter 3 is being written in the family room of the family home where I grew up - in fact - just steps away from where my father spent countless hours writing, researching, playing with his grandchildren and generally - just having one hell of a life.

I have to brag here - about my dad - because my dad was a very special man. Not only was he a good husband, provider and father but how many children can brag that their dads are written up in the history books?

So I think you might be getting the picture of how how I felt about my dad... I always was and am still immensely proud of what my father accomplished in his life. So what happened on the last day of school when I was 14 or so will be forever etched in my mind. Not only because of what happened but how it changed my world forever.....

The best recollection I have of that day was coming home from school and being extremely excited about it being the last day of school before summer vacation. Thinking about having the whole summer off, I barely noticed what was happening when I got home that day. I was with my best friend Debbie when we walked up to the house - and as we got closer - I immediately knew something was terribly wrong.

My mother was trying to get my dad out of the house, and with one look at my dad I knew something was horribly wrong with him. He seemed confused, weak and almost about ready to fall down. All I remember was my mother screaming at me to get a hold of myself and help her ( I was panicking) and she told me to call 911.

I ran in the house, called 911 and proceeded to help and try getting my dad to the car, my mother on one side and me on the other. As we turned to get closer to the car - my father collapsed - yanking free of our arms and falling backwards onto the concrete.

He lay very still on his back, and his eyes rolled back in head, and I thought he had died right there in front of us. Pure terror took over - I started crying and screaming again and within minutes the fire truck came screaming to a halt in front of our house.

We later found out that my dad had had a massive stroke at the age of 48. I had no idea what that meant, but just knew that it was very bad. Although my father survived, he could not speak and had lost the use of part of his body (paralysis)

He was not even like the same man anymore - when he spoke his words came out in garbled sentences, and I will never forget the the look in his eyes: They looked at me as if imploring me to help him understand what had happened to him. My vibrant, intelligent father lay in that hospital bed unable to speak , walk or communicate.

What I didn't realize then was this was only the part of the beginning of much more to come.........