I was 17 years old when my mother died, leaving my dad and myself alone and living in the suburbs of San Diego. Over the course of the next year, Dad and I settled into a manly groove. He went to work, I went to school, he went to the bars after work, I ran track and played baseball, we ate out at the nearby diner, ate take out pizza or microwaved frozen dinners, the dishes piled in the sink and the trash overflowed the garbage cans until the cleaning lady came every other day.
