One day, well into her adult years, Florence Littauer’s dad invited her into a tiny back room of the little store he had operated for decades. Against one wall was an upright piano. Her dad reached behind it and pulled an old cigar box from its hiding place.
Inside were articles he had published in the local paper. Florence was surprised. She had no idea her father was a writer. He’d never discovered his true potential because no one had ever encouraged him.