Early Sunday morning, my 1-year-old son stood on the couch, trying to knock my iMac off the desk. I sighed the heavy sigh of an overtired father whose patience is wearing thin. My son looked at me with the grin of an evil mastermind, testing how far he could move the iMac before I screamed "no!" I shook my head and smiled, then tackled and tickled him. "What are we going to do today?" We went to the Village Park in West Salem. When we got out of the van, I noticed a sign propped up on a sawhorse. I...