I was trying to get Brooks and Chase to release some of their natural childhood energy, so I took all the boys on an outing to the park the other day. Soon after taking a seat on a nearby bench, close to the swings in case my little Spiderman became bored with swinging and began to climb the set, I met a man walking a similar path. We watched our kids on the playground, laughed when one of them created a light moment, and we were what we were as we sat there. We were daddies, hoping our kids were having fun in the afternoon heat. We struck up a conversation, mostly one which revolved around local sports or occupations. He then asked me a question I have tried avoiding over the years, but he innocently didn't know my situation. He laughed and asked if I was giving my wife an afternoon off. I explained my situation, and he apologized. He then explained his situation. His wife died of breast cancer in 2003. He is now left to raise a 10-year-old and 6-year-old on his own. They are both boys, and he told me that having sons is a blessing. He wouldn't have been able to properly raise a daughter. I smiled at that remark. The next few minutes were filled with the silence that usually occurs after explaining what happened to my wife and daughter. After a couple hours, the man rounded his boys up; thanked me for conversation, and he left. I wish I would have asked what his own battle with widowhood and single fatherhood felt like, but the topic never really came up in our conversation. I wish I would have at least offered future conversation. I wish I would have at least known his name. I thank him for the conversation, whoever and wherever he is tonight. I know I'm not alone, and that makes me feel better.