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It was nearly Christmas. My brother and I had to coordinate how to make the hour long drive down the coast to visit my father in the Correctional Re-Entry house he was living in since his release from prison. There was a berry bush in the back yard next to where the wooden picnic table and the basketball hoop had been set up that he had plucked a branch from before we arrived. Taking a soda bottle cap and some paper he made a Christmas tree for the holidays.