Certain is it that there is no kind of affection so purely angelic as of a father to a daughter. In love to our wives there is desire; to our sons, ambition; but to our daughters there is something which there are no words to express.

'A duck!... A baby duck.' (Squealing about a birthday card on her third birthday on Puerta Vallarta, Mexico.

'Daddy, there's Victor, only he has more white hairs now.' (about our neighbor 3 doors down who is a regular reader of McClelland Family.com)

“If we call these foothills, can we call the little trees 'foot trees?''' (While driving in the foothills.)

When you have snowflakes in the clouds in the sky and you have mountains, you get snow. That's how it works.