I wanted dad to be my hero. I desperately needed him to be my hero. Every life desire was second to the longing of this affirmation.
Could I find it by impressing him with my knowledge? Could I earn it by escaping from the Midwest? Would my sobriety and the changes of a life in recovery be enough to let me see behind his impenetrable wall?
I searched for a chink in his armor.
I knew he had a compassionate and sentient soul. I believed that’s where mine had come from. I was driven by the hunt to ferret it out of him.
Hope appeared and then was smashed again, and again. I was idled by futile attempts to scratch beneath the surface.
But I couldn’t give up the quest. Even before the blood on my fingers could dry, I would start to claw at the metal again.
