“I remember grabbing his ankles–hanging on for dear life–as he walked out the door, dragging me as I pleaded with him to stay. I was fighting for his affection, literally. But it didn’t work. It never worked.”
–John Sowers, Fatherless Generation
It used to be my day job, ministering to the youth of this generation. Church work is good work if you can get it, even in Oklahoma.
Andy’s mother came to us one Monday morning, frantic. Andy was listening to Everclear. “Did you know that those boys are named after a liquor product?” she said. Andy’s father had long since pulled up his middle-American tent stakes, leaving his two sons with a mother who was forced to work the late shift to make ends meet. Andy’s dad might have been a trucker or an executive; it didn’t matter really. He was absent.*