My Father Tossed a Blue Savings Passbook into the Mud at Cedar Ridge

“Your father,” Mr.

Miller said.

“Gregory.”

I stared at the bank manager.

The windowless office suddenly felt much too warm.

“My father threw this exact book into the mud yesterday at the cemetery,” I said.

“He told me it was completely worthless.

He said it was just a few dollars of baking money.”