Every guy knows what to do with a hole in the wall. You patch it, right? But what do you do with a hole that’s a dad-shaped wound in your soul?
When I was eleven, I moved back in with my dad. It had been six years since his arrest for threatening to kill my mom in a drunken rage. “Maybe he’s changed,” I hoped. But he hadn’t. His drinking was as bad as ever, and when he became suicidal, I bailed out.