Dad would have been 103 years old today. If he’d been alive for the celebration, he would have gotten a kick out of knowing I spent the day in London. And what a day it was: no clouds in the morning and no rain until late afternoon.

Dad loved England, talked fondly of his time in Old Blighty during World War II. “Everyone said the American GI was overpaid, oversexed and over here,” he chuckled.

To hear Dad tell it, he had been sent here in part to defeat Hitler — and in part to enjoy himself. He jitterbugged at USO dances and made ice cream in the unheated cabin of a B-17 bomber. Of course, he also flew 35 missions as a tail-gunner.

As I walked across the Millennium Bridge and ogled the skyline of St. Paul’s, I felt that Dad was with me. I felt like I was living a double life for a day. My eyes were his eyes, my feet his feet. I was giving him a birthday present of sorts — only it was gift for me, too.