"Dad, what does epizeuxis mean?"

"Go look it up."

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Big messy tears rolled down my face as I cried. My father asked why I was upset. I handed him the paper I wrote for my Freshman Composition class at the local community college. A big, fat, ugly, red C glared at me from the top of the paper I was holding. "I don't understand. What did I do wrong?"

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"Really Grandpa? I can come?"

"Yes, but you need to follow the rules."  He put his hand up and started counting on his fingers. He raised one finger. "We leave the campsites cleaner than we find them. Sometimes you need to clean up other people's messes."

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