The old man raised me from the age of four. I used to think that no two men could ever be less alike. Over the years I slowly realized, grudgingly at first, that no two men could ever be more alike, especially two men not related by blood. Both of us stubborn and prideful, we had a falling out that led to ten years of silence. The last six years have been a crash course in self realization and acceptance. It slowly dawned on me over the years that the old man taught me almost everything I know. I got to decide whether or not this was for better or for worse. It’s only been recently I opted for better. These pieces are a chronicle of that process. They are also a little bit of his story. The old man died January 24, 2016.