By late afternoon at Churchill Downs, I'd lost track of the number of bourbon drinks I had consumed. There were icy mint juleps by the bucketload and more than a few Old Foresters on the rocks. I was feeling pretty damn good.
That's historic mud and shit right there! And the thrill of feeling the fillies pound right past us and hearing the hundred thousand spectators roar more than made up for one ruined pair of shoes.
I never take these types of experiences for granted. But they often mean leaving my two daughters for stretches of time. I haven't celebrated a Father's Day at home in five years, because Men's Fashion Week in Milan always falls in the middle of June.
To raise a son is to teach him how to master his world while knowing he'll get hurt, Bissell writes. Raising a daughter can and should be about that, too.
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