As my father approaches 90: “Hope is not a feeling or an expectation,” he explains. “It’s a form of acting. I choose to act as if we had a choice to change this behavior, and to change the world for the better and avoid catastrophe.”
Conversation
My father, a nuclear veteran, died at 40, 1968, acute leukemia from ionizing radiation exposure during nuclear tests, 1951, in Nevada desert. Your father, a voice in the wilderness to eradicate these weapons from the earth, is a blessing. In gratitude on the eve of his 90 years.
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