The End

This is the Fourth of July in the year 8 C.E., the eighth year of the Court Era. My graduation was two weeks ago today. My high school years my father lived three minutes from me and came to everything at my school, except the six months he turned sixty-two in jail. Yeah, he was old. He was always the oldest dad in my class. People sometimes thought he was my grandfather, especially the other kids. It was funny, not embarrassing. He was also the coolest dad, by far.

My high school years I didn't say a dozen words to him. Mostly "please don't come." Careful what you ask, you know. He died near the end of my junior year, two months before his sixty-fourth birthday. Today would have been his sixty-fifth.

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