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Thanks, Uncle Phil . . .

My dad left my life when I was ten and died when I was 16, after literally being found lying on the street in agony from cancer. He wasn’t a good father, he failed me in just about all ways, but I still loved him. He was the only adult who treated me like a child when I was a child; all the others leaned on me or argued with me as if I were a small adult. He loved me, I know that, despite his terrible sins.

His mother and brother visited us when I was too young to remember and she sent me small gifts of books, but I never really knew them. He was the black sheep of the family, I think in part because he wasn’t able to enlist when WWII hit the US. He had some health issue. He felt so badly because his four brothers all served. So he disappeared into alcohol and southern Nevada, abandoning his first family of four children.

Read the rest of this story at mormonmentality.org
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