Time has made everything better. As I haven't been involved seriously with anyone worth a damn since Obama's first presidency, there really hasn't been much to discuss, romantically. But it's refreshing to know that if someone arose that I needed to discuss, I could do so without being scratched out of wills and chopped from the family tree.
And so it was arranged. I was registered for Saturday morning karate classes at the Newport News YMCA. That first morning, Dad beamed, expecting to drop off a boy and pick up a warrior, a warrior who would perhaps dazzle relatives at holiday dinners with electrifying karate skills, karate chopping rum cakes in half, dazzlingly. By the time he entered the gym hours later to take me home, I was practicing cartwheels and tumbling with the gymnastics group.
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