It was an earlier time, many decades ago, when the love between my father and I first appeared. My parents had ended their dysfunctional marriage, leaving my older brother, Keith, to live with our father while I was sent away with my mother and a dog named Nippy. Keith was 13 and I was 7. I was later told that Keith and I had to be separated; he did bad things to me.
Two months later, after the spring plow and the crops had been planted, I returned to the two-story farmhouse for a one-week visit with Keith and my father. On this summer day, my grandfather and mother were in the front seat of his 1951 Chevy while I peered over the back seat looking for the house where I had spent my earlier years. No sooner had we turned off highway 16 and headed north on the DeLand…
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