Since I went mostly blind and largely useless, I may have suggested to my wife a few times that she drive down to the woods and leave me there if I become too much of a burden. She asked where I came up with such an idea, which made me think about something I rarely spare any thoughts to: my parentage. Specifically, my dad.

I haven’t seen my dad in about a decade and a half now, and he’s been dead for half that time. So my memories from 15+ years ago (and before 4 strokes ago) are getting a little hazy. But while I was rolling around in bed all night pondering what enhancements to make to the deck of my Gloomhaven Savvas Elementalist, Avatar Drew I, I had some flashes of recollection. Since this is a book about my life and people may wonder about the genealogical background of someone they’re reading about, I suppose I might as well fill in a few blanks.

I remember my dad telling me about how there had been a newborn next to me in the nursery at the hospital—Zachariah—and that the hospital must have made a mistake and given my parents the wrong baby by mistake. If I didn’t shape up, he threatened, he’d take me to the orphanage and exchange me for Zachariah. (I think it must have been really hard on my dad having a son wired so completely differently from him who he didn’t understand at all. )

I remember my dad holding me down and not letting me go. 

I was instructed I had to behave as I was told or my dad would drive me down to the woods and leave me there. (And people wonder why I’ve spent my life so firmly entrenched in Lawful Good.)

My dad did manual labor as a carpenter as his profession, but he was always full of rage when he’d rant about how he was so much smarter than all his peers and would have been a huge success if everyone hadn’t dissuaded him from going to college. 

I recall my dad being gone until after midnight most nights of the week because he was out gambling. That was fine. I liked not having competition for the TV. 

I remember being shoved against the wall with my dad’s hand on my throat (picture Itachi choking Sasuke from Naruto episode 85–it’s funny that way). 

Though I’ve long since forgotten the exact words, I can still feel the intensity of my dad’s daily hate-filled diatribes, filled with screaming and swearing about anyone who wasn’t a straight white man with his belief system. He would have absolutely loved four of the last five years in America. 

I remember someone (I think a relative on my mom’s side who clearly could make a more informed judgment than me) telling me my father was a good man. 

I don’t believe I ever saw my dad kiss or even hug my mom in my entire life. He must have loved her, though. He didn’t take her down to the woods and abandon her or anything.