his father who had encouraged him to drop out of high school in 1984,
to get his GED, and a job with him at the plant so they could have each
night off together. It was his father who taught him the mysteries of life
and the complexities of women. It was his father who taught him how to
fight, how to take a beating, how to be a man. Now his father was gone.
The evening he got the phone call from his mom, he had his first drink in
almost 25 years—a forty-ounce Milwaukee’s Best in honor of his deceased
father. Three days later, he showed up drunk to the funeral.
For four months in 2013, when his wife finally kicked him out
of the house because of his drinking, he lived in his office. Only two
coworkers knew about his situation; if anyone else found out, he could
lose both his military and civilian jobs and his security clearance. It
wasn’t that living in his office was the problem; drinking while living
there was the issue. Every night when his coworkers packed up and left
for home, he did the same thing; however, instead of going home, he
made the fifteen-minute-drive down the long stretch