Dear Dad, I can imagine you, in your early 20s, still a few years away from family responsibilities, driving home late from a night out drinking with the boys. You’re on a concession road in southern Ontario. It’s fall, and you’re a bit buzzed. You reach under your seat for a cassette tape and take your eyes off the road for an instant, missing a stop sign (in later versions of this story, you’ll say it had been pulled down as a prank — the world always stacked against you). Read the rest of this letter at Broadview Magazine…
A letter to my opioid-addicted father
