When I was around two, my parents separated and subsequently divorced. I was too young to know what was going on and don't even remember my father ever living in the house that I grew up in. I lived with my mother from then on. My dad never missed a beat, though. Although our time together was limited, I'd see him often and would look forward to our "dates." You see, my dad and I would spend much of our time together eating out at our favorite restaurant, particularly on birthdays and special occasions. I remember getting dressed in my Sunday's best to dine with daddy: church dress, ruffled socks, some patent leather oxfords or penny loafers, and hair adorned with matching ribbons. Every year he'd ask, "Mia, where do you want to go for your birthday?" "Houston's," I'd reply with a giggle because year after year, the answer never changed. It was our spot! We'd usually start with a spinach dip and a grilled chicken salad. My dad
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