My father in the Marines

A bugler played Taps for my father a few minutes before he was lowered into the ground on a Friday afternoon last August. I hadn’t seen the bugler, standing at attention near the overpass on Hancock Lane, just beyond the tree line that separates the Jews from the Gentiles at the Austin Memorial Cemetery. It startled me when he began to play – maybe the most searing, beautiful tune I know – and all I could do was smile. That moment …

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