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The Greatest Hour of My Life
By Carl Caton

The day began as just another Sunday. It was a warm spring afternoon. One of those gems when you are not planning to do anything. The morning was spent going to church, seeing friends, and eating out at lunch. My little boy's eyes were a little weary when we got home. He needed an afternoon nap. My wife was in need of an afternoon nap as well.

So it was just Brooke and Dad, off to the park. Brooke is six now. It's a magical age. But then again, I've called every year of her life 'a magical age'. We drove up to the park hoping to see some other kids there for us to meet or play with. But it was just us. Tree leaves rustled as the oaks began dropping their leaves and preparing for that new spring foliage.

What followed was the best hour of my life. It had nothing to do with greatness in my profession, recognition, works, or achievement. It had nothing to do with the spoils of life. No airplanes, fast cars, boats, or other toys. It wasn't walking across a platform to accept master's degree diploma. In fact, it was as uneventful as you could imagine. Brooke wanted to learn how to master the monkey bars at the park. It was looking at her face. Looking at that happy smile. That beautiful, innocent, enthusiastic countenance. Those honest, loving eyes. It was her bubbly, joyful spirit. It was the laughter while we played chase and a hug when she caught me. 

That's all. Nothing else. An hour one Sunday. The finest hour of my life. I stand in amazement at the incredible richness of the simple things in life.

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