Were Those Very Red Wing Work Boots I Had Folded Beside My Chair in That Cedar Falls Gym.
Their heavy soles encased in clear crystal resin, a bronze plaque mounted across the pedestal reading:
MY SON LAY ON THE GYM FLOOR STRUGGLING TO BREATHE WHILE HIS INSTRUCTOR RIDICULED HIM.
A FATHER'S UNYIELDING VALOR RAISED THE BEDROCK OF THE REPUBLIC.
BUILT PLUMB. HELD TRUE.
A pair of white-tailed sea hawks broke from the high canopy of the northern pines along the shore, circling high on the thermal updrafts above the water, their broad wings catching the sun as they banked clean, deep, and free across the limitless blue American sky.
I looked down at the hand-carved inscription on the arm of the cedar rocking chair beside my knee:
BUILT PLUMB. HELD TRUE.
MERCER HOMESTEAD // ESTABLISHED 1944
A slow, radiant, permanent smile broke across Damon Mercer’s face—a smile that held zero fear, zero debts, zero lies, and zero graves.
