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Unearthed on Sunday as I searched through an old accordian envelope,
a strange postwar photostat of my father, a student ID complete with stamps
and seals, one of the only pictures I have of him, taken when he was younger
than I am now, upon completing his law degree in 1946. Further correspondence
written 20 years later when he was an immigrant in search of job related
how for political reasons he was never allowed to practice law, filed with
gentle rejections from prospective employers. My mother was already pregnant
with me when he was diagnosed with cancer in early '69, a fact he kept
a secret until I had been delivered by Albert Schweitzer's former nurse in
Liberty, New York. He died in 1973. My mother was happy to find his social
security card, a cherished memento in his spare legacy. |