(A couple of days ago, a link to this blog post came up in my Facebook feed. I read it, fought back a few tears, then posted it to my father's wall because I knew he would want to read it. When I popped in at my parents' house later that day, we had a long conversation about it that ended with him asking me to write something about it. Since he doesn't often ask me to write something, and because I was already starting to do so in my head, I agreed. It's long, but you're welcome in advance.) I want to say that what I'm about to write about is one of those moments I remember like it was yesterday, but it's not. It was a rare moment, but not because of how well I remember it. It's more like the moment was rare because I work in a largely testosterone-driven office, and an early morning conversation with the one other woman who works with me in the editorial department without the guys around is a truly rare moment and a truly precious gift. In what mi...