My dad died Monday night. Today’s the funeral.
He was not a perfect man; he had a great many flaws, and a great many demons that often got the best of him. And it left me pretty messed up for much of my life–enough that I could’ve taken (and have) dozens of books to work through it all and barely scratch the surface. To this day, the most vivid memory I have from childhood is one of terror and violence, of being six years old and scared of my own dad as he met my eyes through the spidery cracks of the windshield he was trying to kick in.