Dear first born child, Remember how we walked around with a chip on our shoulders at eighteen because we were free from all the grueling chores we did and scoldings that we endured even if we were innocent of the crime? Do you remember? How we walked around, dazed with the freedom of newfound adulthood, thinking ourselves responsible? We thought ourselves responsible, we made our decisions, we took risks, we thought minor situations major and flared up at the slightest notion of being thought irresponsible. We thought we were responsible and sometimes we just wanted to throw off all these 'huge' responsibilities off our shoulders. We however didn't know what responsibility was until Papa died and we had to face the glaring realities of being fatherless. We thought Papa's job was easy, all he ever did was shout and shake his head in disapproval of whatever we did and the friends we kept, but then he died and we had to think fast. How would Papa be buried? How would...