My little Dad story goes like this. We often drove on Sundays to see relatives thirty miles north in LaCrosse, Wisconsin. On one such occasion, as our ages reached double digits, we were talking about if the family had two kids instead of six, Mom and Dad could have had a whole lot more nifty stuff. (Don’t think we older kids weren’t at least jokingly thinking “yeah, if you young losers hadn’t come along, we’d have it made.”) Without missing a beat, my dad said something to the effect of “all of you are my riches,” and he’d rather have all of us than all the stuff. We’re all called to honor our father and mother, but man, raising six kids born within eight years with as much love and sacrifice as they offered deserves at least an annual bow for applause.