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Big Boys Don't Cry

Big Boys Don’t Cry By Bill Stork, DVM One image I have stored on the hard drive is my daughter’s first thunderstorm. From Zeloski’s Hill to Wilkie’s Oak View Farm, an ominous bank of thunderheads roiled coal-black, purple, and split-pea green. With Paige swaddled in her summer weight footy PJs, restless from a missed nap or a burp that hadn’t arrived, I stepped to the porch. As lightning flashed her face like Grandma’s Instamatic, the tears stopped, short of her chin. Her whole body perked at the thunder rumbling like a dump truck on a cattle path. Sadness gave way to wonder. Her face softened as the raindrops pushed past the pines and filtered through the screen, landing on her cheeks. Ah y

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