'There's power in flowers," my pop the florist forever preached.
Flowers were a gift like other natural gifts - a full moon, the mountains, rainbows and sunsets. Flowers, he would remind me, are a steady force, softening even the toughest among us. Even roofers send their hearts in a vase. But most of all, my pop told me, flowers speak to the verities of the heart and soul: Honor, truth, love.
God, he was right.
One day long ago, as I was working side by side with him in his tiny flower shop in the Paradise section of the city, I was telling him I had taken out a French major at Temple, but there wasn't enough spark to turn on a pocket flashlight.