Tuning into a Biden press conference, an American viewer can expect to hear something along the lines of “bippo-no-bungus” or “sala-ma-goox” come out of the mouth of the president. The latest bout of linguistic creativity was in describing the evolution of pistols into guns — these new Pokemon are getting out of hand.

Also, happy Father’s Day. I hope it had all the quietude, new machinery, and adoration from the kids and wife that can make the day special. For my part, I drove up to the cottage where my dad was rumbling through the woods on a backhoe repairing trails. He seemed pleased with the delivery of a few of his favorite things: a Karuba coffee, glazed donuts, and a copy of the Wall Street Journal.

While describing a recent garage renovation, I wrote of fathers’ generational importance regarding material assistance and, more significantly, directed purpose:

Here in the garage on a beautiful Wisconsin Friday, I sit in a steel chair that my Grandpa Selle bought in college and type at a desk my Grandpa Abel ran a company from for decades, across from a leather wingback chair my wife’s grandfather brought from England. Behind me is a toolbox my great-grandfather built before my father was alive, before me are framed blueprints that my Grandpa Abel drew — a self-taught mechanical engineer. And here am I, writing about things I’d never know if not for the many men who taught me, freely giving of their possessions and stores of knowledge.

Weekend short suggestion (for those who know): Ray Bradbury’s “The Rocket Man” (p. 63).