They Want to Drop a Bomb in My Father’s Name
Cătălin Roșioru
I ’m doomscrolling on Facebook — past puppy photos, Paul Schrader recounting his ayahuasca journey, hopeful dispatches from second and third marriages — when a post stops me. Someone says that he asked Pete Hegseth to drop a bomb on Iran in the name of my dead father. The past is the present again. IT’S NOVEMBER 1979. I’M AN eighth-grader in Oak Harbor, Washington state, folding and rubber-banding copies of the Seattle Times and counting the days. My father, Cmdr. Peter Rodrick, leads VAQ-135 —
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