I asked so many questions that I’d been thinking of asking him since forever. But there was one question I wanted to ask ever since I was twelve. I could’ve asked him on the phone, but I was scared then and I put it to the back of my mind. But sitting here in front of him brought it back to the tip of my tongue. I asked him, “What did you do that caused them to lock you away for so long?”

He let his head fall and I could see that he was nervous because he couldn’t stop fiddling with his fingers. I moved next to him and I put my head on his shoulder and told him that it was okay and that whatever it was didn’t matter to me, because I loved him, and noth- ing could change the way I felt about my dad.

It looked like he was scared to say it and I didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, so I changed the subject. He told me about my baby days and how much work I was. He apologized for going away, but I knew it wasn’t his fault so I didn’t really acknowledge it. But that’s where I stopped . . . because half of this, or mainly all of this was his fault. If he hadn’t been out on the streets, as my mom said, being a player—player and etc.—he wouldn’t have been in the position that he was in right now! But, I couldn’t let him know that I thought that. It was just a thought anyway. Still, never changed the way I felt.