And even though, you take care not to offend, you feel obligated to claim rite as the pater familias. You can't ignore the encroaching grey skin of the patriarchal shift. You can't wait to step foot at the funeral with a sharp blade and even sharper inclination in your pocket.
Everyone's going to see the false impression coming. They're going to whisper and squint when you make that long trek. And the doors of their homes will be forever closed. And the grave markers of adopted feasibility will read like something in foreign, dead tongues. You won't know what to make of the proceedings. But it'll be easily deciphered, by those you've read, and those that read you.