He had been studying engineering when I was born. His old engineering books stayed wrapped in plastic on the top shelf of our closet.
My mother, Selene, left when I was three.
One Tuesday afternoon, she kissed my forehead, picked up her purse, and said she needed milk from the grocery store.
She never returned.
Dad quit college the following week. There was no speech and no complaint. He borrowed a pair of work boots, took a construction job, and raised me in the same tiny apartment for the rest of my childhood.
Money was always tight.
When there was one piece of chicken left, Dad claimed he had eaten at work. His boots split at the sides, but he repaired them with glue because mine needed replacing first.
One Christmas, I asked why there were no presents for him.
