There's a picture of my dad that used to sit on my mom's bedside table - in the nebulous lore that is my dad's past, I would place it somewhere around the time he took a break from college and lived in Colorado, getting by teaching other sometime-college-students to ski. In this picture, he's leaning forward into the camera lens with a grin that tells you how perfectly aware he is of the power of his fluffy mane of 80's hair, and he's wearing the platonic ideal of the perfect fisherman's sweater. There are two points here - first, this is a man with standards, and second, I have wanted to knit this exacting man a perfect fisherman's sweater for the past 15 years. About 20 years ago, I had a babysitter who could knit. If my memory is at all reliable, she was a woman of no discernible age or facial features that would sit on our sofa while we watched Pixar movies on VHS and crank out stockinette stitch color-blocked scarves like it was nothing. Fast forw...