In my own family, almost nothing makes my husband and me happier than seeing our grown-up sons enjoy each other. I hope they always will, even if their lives take increasingly different directions, perhaps because they recognize what a devoted brother their father is and how I, too, try to nurture faraway relationships by meeting my sister each summer for overnights at the Jersey Shore — halfway between her home in Philadelphia and mine in New York — and visiting back and forth with my brother in Los Angeles.
 
I especially wish my kids take note of how their father all but reveres his mother. I don’t need to be worshipped, but, hey, I wouldn’t mind if my kids thought such admiration was normal.

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