Dad at 13: December 7, 1941.

Eighty-four years today, also on a Sunday, my Dad, 13, came home in the afternoon with a basketball as usual under his arm. He was surprised to find both of his parents in the living room of their new house in Indianapolis, where the family had moved from Missouri the year before and my grandfather J. Dan Hull was now the new principal of storied Shortridge High School. They were listening intently to the radio, heads bowed to their Emerson tabletop model. His mom, and my grandmother, Alene Oliver Hull, mother of two, one girl and one boy, and tough-as-nails, outspoken Kentuckian schoolteacher (she died at 101), looked up from the radio at my Dad and started to softly cry.