I”ve been working on a piece I was going to publish today about my father. But the piece I wrote, while engaging and beautifully-written, just ended up being too personal of a thing to publish here.
Still, I wanted to use this Father”s Day to free the story of my dad from the ambiguous half-truth I”ve been using for the past 13 years whenever I was asked about him:
“My dad died when I was 15.”
Technically that”s true, even if it”s the smallest detail of a much more involved story. I”ve always hated using that seven-word answer, because I”d rather tell people the whole story. It”s an amazing story, and while it sucked to be the kid living through it, it”s all ancient history now.
The whole story is:
“My father skipped town when I was 14. He was missing for almost a year, then turned up dead. But we didn”t think it was him in the casket, and we heard from several people that he was in the witness protection program, so I can”t say that I really believe he died back then.”
Ask me about it sometime.