My name is Jackson Calvert…

I should start with my only family heirloom.  It pretty well sums up the whole damn clan.  In Calvert lore there’s no item more revered than the six-pointed star that great-grandpa Calvert earned when he became sheriff of Poscataw County back in 1910. 

Robert Calvert was Mississippi born and bled, just like his father, just like his father’s father.  I’m sure great-grandpa Calvert would have despised me, a California-raised son-of-an-ACLUist.  Hell, I’m more likely to be chased by sheriffs than become one.  Probably not the guy he figured would end up running around Mississippi with his badge. 

I guess the badge is handsome.  It’s worn on the edges, but with some polish you can make the face shine.  I came into possession of it just after I turned eighteen, part of a father-to-son rite of passage.  Or that’s how my father viewed the evening.  From my perspective it seemed more like the typical Johnson Calvert travesty.

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