By Jennifer Scott-Dewar
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My dad took me to the landfill when I was eight. My dad only ever owned used vans and we would fill them with all his beer cans and my soda bottles. I was excited on those Tuesdays because I knew the recycling man would give me shiny quarters for the bottles. I wonder why they stopped paying people for those. I would ask my dad, but he passed away in the pandemic. Unlike the junk at the landfill, my dad isn’t buried. He is in ashes at sea.
About the Author
Jennifer Scott-Dewar earned a bachelor's degree in social justice and a master's degree in child, family, and community service from the University of Illinois at Springfield. She worked for several years in violence prevention and currently volunteers with various nonprofit organizations. She was recently awarded first place in the Illinois Central College Poetry contest.