I hid in my dad’s office a lot when I was younger. For better or for worse, I enjoyed our late night conversations. I didn’t know he wasn’t sober. I don’t think it mattered to me. I just enjoyed being able to spend time with my dad. It also protected me from my mother’s rage. So I stayed. And listened to him talk. At that point, all of the stories were new and exciting. So I listened. And I think fondly of those times, even though they were the lesser of two evils in retrospect.
