Adoption
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It was the day I’d met my father for the first time. He wasn’t at all like I’d imagined which stood to reason since I’d never even seen a picture. We looked nothing alike. He appeared to be of Scandinavian descent, while I was a dead-ringer for a young Zelda, Queen of the Gypsies. This
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Jimmy’s welcome home party was in full swing: magicians, clowns, hotdogs and hamburgers on the grill and cake and cookies for later. There was even a live band. Most children would be overjoyed at such a celebration, especially one in their honor, but not Jimmy. He stood alone on the dock staring into the water,
Ergo, the Ogre 