It was June of 2010, and my parents were looking mighty spiffy.
My mom positively glowed in the wedding dress she’d kept in pristine condition in the attic for fifty years.
My dad looked sharp in the same style of white coat, narrow-lapel tux he’d worn in 1960.
I sang during the cocktail hour with a jazz trio at the big bash party they hosted at the restaurant.
But my real gift to them was the book I made them.