It's a revelation that hits every parent at some point in the Goldfish-cracker and Cheerio years: I cannot protect her from everything. For me, it was in the bathroom of a Greek restaurant in Greenville, South Carolina, when she looked up at me from her toilet perch and began a conversation that went something like this: Sasha: Daddy, what is it like to die? Me: Sweetie, it's not something you need to worry about for a very long time. Sasha: But Daddy, just tell me what it is like. Me: It's like a deep, deep rest. Sasha: Daddy (as a look of worry crept onto her face) , are you still a person...