A quiet sorrow settles over my heart when Father’s Day arrives, as I find myself with a wild longing to reach out and touch two men I have seen and known. One was my grandfather, whom I often mention in this column and the other the father of my children’s lives. They were both strong working men and for the most part gentle men. I doubt that it had always been so, but somewhere along life’s journey they had gained the gifts of peace and wisdom.

My Pa had been a cowboy out on the plains of Colorado and grew up in a time of sagebrush, windmills, and open prairies. My David, an auto me...