06/17/2020My father—Joseph Linden Sargent—passed away almost twelve years ago, yet there’s still hardly a Father’s Day that goes by when I don’t remind myself to call him. That thought usually hits me about dusk, or when I look at one of his watercolors on our walls. He died on his anniversary, nearly two years after my mother’s passing. Fifty-seven years earlier, in a small, private wedding, my mother had marched to the altar down a narrow stairwell in my father’s childhood home. Dad loved telling us about growing up in Long Beach: the earthquake that left many in tents, the roller coaster at the Pike, the Brethren church at “Fifth and Cherry” where he and Mom met. He wanted his three boys to love the beach as much as he did, so we spent many evenings building sand forts at Huntington and climbing over rocks to wait for sunsets at Laguna. The magic hour, in our family, was always twilight.Westmont 1 Column Content Background Color White Ali...