I'll try to keep this short, because Roger tended to write short.
Roger Ebert, who died four years ago today, is still my guiding light as a journalist. I grew up watching him and Gene Siskel on various incarnations of "At the Movies"—it was called "Sneak Previews" originally—but I didn't read his writing until college at Southern Methodist University, where the bookstore stocked several of his books. I was particularly fond of "Roger Ebert's Movie Yearbook," which collected most of the reviews he did as the regular lead critic for The Chicago Sun-Times.
Happy 13th birthday to my son James, who devotes every free moment to playing soccer, practicing his soccer moves, reading about soccer, watching soccer analysis and game clips on YouTube, and playing soccer videogames.
In fall, 2015, when James' team lost the league final by one point, due to James' own errant header -- a random thing, happens all the time -- he was in tears. He was convinced that his teammates blamed him for the loss when in fact none of them did; they were all grateful it wasn't them that it happened to. I hugged him, and he said, "Just once in my life I wanted to win something."