"Greater things are believed of those who are absent." Tacitus
I didn’t know much about my father until I was 18 years old. I knew who is was, but his life was a mystery. I lived most of my life up until that point, where my mother was home with us, and Daddy came home every two weeks. Seemed normal to us. It had always been that way. He would arrive on a Friday and leave on Sunday morning on alternating weekends. He drove a Packard for a while, then switched over to an old Ford Ranchero, that had burn damage. I can remember one time he came in a Cadillac and said it was his boss’s car.
As we understood it, Daddy worked in the oil business and traveled.