—YOU DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO

 

Photo Album

  

Even dead, he looked like me, our trombone nose and camouflaged sailor’s smirk nearly identical. On a table by the casket, someone had set up a folding table topped with flowers, a sign-in book and photo album, so I thumbed through it until I came across one where a toddler balanced on his lap, some dopey kid lost in blurred delight, a rattle toy held up like a stop sign or warning, and when no one was looking, I stepped back over, took a last look at my father, and flipped him off before closing the lid.