I never got around to it, he said. There was always something preventing me from telling my side of the story. The way things really happened, he lit a cigarette. 

Somehow, I think it’s better that way. Let people think what they want. And if that means I’m the bad guy, so be it, he continued talking to his son.

But that was a long time ago, the father said. He took a drink of whiskey and offered some to the kid. The kid said no thanks. He had given up the bottle years ago; saw what it did to the old man.

You can believe what you want to believe, Pop said. Who you want to believe. But that don’t make it right. Now, does it? the son looked at his father square in the eyes. Dark eyes. Lines underneath.

Mom said you had a woman in every county, the young man said. Said you couldn’t keep it in your pants. Also said you left us with nothing.

She left me.

Why? Why did she leave you?

Some men aren’t made to be married. And they don’t find out till it’s too late. That’s what happened. As for the money. I didn’t have any to give. Still don’t. 

You drank it all? he reached for the bottle.

Give me that.

The son started pouring Wild Turkey down the drain. Pop fell to his knees and cried. Moaned till it was all gone. The glass bottle was thrown against the wall, breaking into a thousand little shards.

Welcome home, dad.