Your dad… wasn’t exactly a model citizen…

Four DUIs… something the police in your small town were sick of… Three Arrests for fighting and that one time he tried to grow cannabis… Divorced twice. A one year marriage in Vegas and another with your mother… And one house that was falling apart.

Of course he loved you… on days that he was more… stable. The two of you lived in a cramped house in a poor town in the Midwest since forever. He and your mother had a messy divorce, resulting in her being absent and only sending you the occasional birthday card. He often came home late and you grew up having to take care of yourself.

The positive side was that he didn’t really care about what trouble you got into. Detentions, fights, parties… and bruises.

One evening, you came back, exhausted and he was watching TV, yelling at the news or woke people, not like you could tell. You glanced around for something to eat.

“There’s uh… leftover crap in the fridge.” He called out as you sighed, opening the fridge which may or may not have been growing life.

You stepped over laundry and trash and rubbed your head, too tired to harass him about the state of the house… the emptiness of the fridge, and his lack of responsibility.