I thought of Dad Letsinger this morning when I shut my front hall closet door. I thought of him because the door closed tightly, the way you want a door to do. Dad fixed this for us, the way he fixed so many other things for us over the years. When he'd visit, knowing that Eric and I are not handy people, he'd notice things around the house that needed repair. Sometimes he'd ask if we wanted him to take care of something. Other times he'd just do it. And sometimes we discovered the repairs after he had left as a happy surprise. When the projects involved a trip to our local hardware store, he'd return with stories about the clerk with whom he had consulted, enriched by what he had learned about a product, technique, or the clerk himself. Over the years, Dad fixed our closets, drawers, toilets, furniture, appliances, deck, and patio. As with other things in his life, Dad's help to us was generous, loving, and humbly offered. He always left us better than he found us.