So...the work, non fiction...is stuck 25 years ago...at 160 something pages. The former bellhop died and left me everything, but I had no Idea what that was. Not that I do now...but I know a great deal more now than I did in 1993.

   The former bellhop was my father, but I knew almost nothing about him. None of us did. We saw what he wanted us to see. Where I am stuck now in the work is a year and a half after the day I got the call from Florida that my father was dead. 

    I have my own ideas but facts are scarce;what my father had been or had not been did not matter to me, because he was my father.  What he was after he was a bellhop might take more pages than I have left in me. 

     Nothing is exactly as it seems, except that I am my father’s son. What other verifiable facts remain are too few for me to convince myself of anything for certain. He was a bellhop, in Asbury Park...that is a fact. As soon as he graduated high school in 1945 he joined the Marine Corps. 

     I understood my father to not be who he seemed a long time before his death, so much so that I never questioned who he was, as it was, at least while he was alive, none of my business. I knew what I knew from watching...from being there, not from anything he said, as he said very little, ever. 

     I did not ask to be his heir, or even know there was anything to inherit, but there was.

      

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