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It was a rude awakening. It was my eighth grade graduation. As I walked into the auditorium, looking around at all the other families trying to scope out mine, I finally found them. There they were my mother, my grandfather (my poppy) and the empty seat who posed as my father. Fifteen years ago, my family (my mother, father, and I) were living in our cute little yellow house with our white picket fence on …

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