It's time for another edition of SE(N)O, an essay series on A+ for personal stories we wish we could tell on the accessible-to-our-employers-and-everyone-we've-ever-known mainsite, but can't for personal and professional reasons.
This is a story about the family that I lost and found and almost found at various The Cheesecake Factory restaurants across America.
The Cheesecake Factory, Tampa Bay FL - 1998
How I came to be at the Cheesecake Factory when I was sixteen was more or less because my grandfather — a man I'd only met once or twice when I was too young to clearly remember — was dying. I'd found out through my grandmother, a hard lady who I'd also only met a couple of times, but who'd be sending me hundred dollar bills in...
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