“I remember so much of your childhood," he says. "I remember running you around the leaves in the wheelbarrow. Or the time you were so sick we took you to the hospital. I remember walking in the fields.” I nod, because the moment’s not about me. “Yes Dad,” I say. “There were a lot of good times.” No, there weren't. Which is why we both escaped: He into the bottle; I into the nerd.