You could never tell us apart–at least, that’s what I always thought. Of course, a grown man and a little boy are quite distinct. In my mind, though, we were one and the same: me and my dad–much like the sun and the day. He was the sun and I was the day, ignited by his very presence, my heart lit up with utter delight by his smile, his laugh, his contagious joy. I couldn’t imagine a day without him, even as the day isn’t really a day without the sun.

He would take me each day after school to the corner liquor store and I would get the biggest candy bar I could find. A creature of habit, I would always get the same chocolate bar: a king-size Snickers. The name just made me laugh, but the way it melted in my mouth was no laughing matter. The creamy filling and smooth chocolate with nuts made me feel like I was in heaven.

Dad would pay for us and we’d leave, going to the park, where he’d have a smoke on the same bench under the same big oak tree. It’d been there, he said, since the founding of the town some 100 years ago. Being only seven, I couldn’t imagine what a hundred years was even like, but I knew it had to be a long time.

I’d chew away at my Snickers, cramming the chocolate bar down my throat like I was starving.

“Whoa, Son,” Dad would laugh, cautioning me, “you’re liable to choke there!”

I’d grin with chocolate all over my mouth, wiping it away with the edge of my sleeve.

Looking back, I wish I’d known many things, like the fact that Dad was an alcoholic or that smoking was really bad for your lungs. I wish I’d known that he was avoiding going home because he couldn’t face Mom, who’d been working her fingers to the bone to support our family, while he whiled away the hours drinking bottle after bottle, drifting off and away from reality into fantasyland.

I feel like if I knew those things, I could have been some sort of help or support. But I was just a dumb kid, and I loved my dad. Love is blind they say, and I was sure blind.

The sun began to set and Dad was burning through his last cigarette, its light burning dimly in the twilight.

“Well,” Dad sighed, “I suppose it’s about time to head on home and get you some supper.”

Jumping off the bench, I’d stand upright next to my dad, beaming with pride and joy. He’d place his hand on my head and rustle my hair. Then we would walk home through the darkness.