This scene was becoming pretty routine.Dad would come home and hit the beer. If he wasn’t already half-lit by the time he got back, he didn’t wast... much time in getting to fully-lit. He didn’t usually eat. I wondered if the calories from a twelve-pack were enough to keep him going. Somehow, I doubted it.On nights when I was home early, I’d try to get him to eat. He’d refuse. He’d just lay there and drink, sulking and pining over Mom. Many nights I’d hear him crying, but usually, that was after. "Glen," he started off carefully, looking as though he was trying todecide exactly how to say it. "You have a great life. You are handsome,athletic, and very popular... especially with the ladies. You are the starplayer on your football team and might very well go on to one day playprofessionally." Yeah?" I grinned, feeling rather pleased by his compliments.Then he stated as though it were fact, "But it is not enough...is it?" What?" I blinked in surprise.Mathias continued, "You feel as though. More

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