BY LISA ROMEO Since my father died, I've noticed that when people talk about gone fathers, small things bubble up. The conversations I love begin, "Remember how he loved…he liked…he hated…" I am struck by how a father's likes and dislikes, even idiosyncrasies that weren't particularly endearing, bring our dads back. He only went to church on Christmas, Easter, and Palm Sunday and made and sent tiny palm crosses in the mail. My father seemed to know everything, and when he didn't know, he made something up that sounded completely logical. He read the Wall Street Journal daily because he knew that with a 10th grade education he didn't know everything.
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