"21 years after Dad kicked me out, I saw him at my nephew’s wedding. He sneered, “If it weren’t for pity, no one would’ve invited you.” I took a sip of my wine and smiled. Then the bride took the mic, saluted me, and said, “A toast to Admiral...”

At zero-five-hundred hours the following morning, the massive diesel turbines of the USS Nimitz roared to life.

The heavy steel hull vibrated beneath my boots as I stood on the open bridge wing of the aircraft carrier, eleven stories above the water.

The sun was just beginning to break over the California mountains, casting long, golden rays of light across the glass-like surface of the bay.

Beside me stood Commander Mercer, holding a cup of hot black coffee.

"All bridge stations report ready for sea, Admiral," Mercer reported crisply. "Tugboats are cast off. The harbor pilot has cleared us for departure."

"Very well, Thomas," I replied, taking a slow sip of coffee. "Signal the fleet. Form line astern, speed fifteen knots."

"Aye, aye, Admiral."

The great warship began to glide smoothly out of the bay, passing the tip of Point Loma, breaking into the deep, rolling blue swells of the open Pacific Ocean.

Behind us, two guided-missile cruisers and three destroyers fell into perfect tactical formation, their grey hulls cutting cleanly through the white sea foam.

I leaned my hands against the stainless-steel railing of the bridge wing, feeling the cool morning sea spray against my face.

Twenty-one years ago, I had stood in a cold rainstorm on a suburban driveway, watching my father throw two duffel bags into the mud, telling me I would never amount to anything without his name.

I looked back over my shoulder one last time toward the distant, receding line of the American coast, then turned my eyes permanently back toward the endless, open horizon ahead.

I didn't need his money.

I didn't need his permission.