I didn’t want to see my dad put in the ground. I didn’t go to the funeral. But Ralphie did. He showed up with a beat-up old guitar that he’d got at some junk store. Alice said he did “500 Miles,” “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain” and “Little Brown Church in the Dell.” She said he just sang his heart out and cried. I know the tears were mostly for himself. The songs at least were ones he thought dad might like. Alice said it was too much to take. She said he was so off key and he couldn’t even play that guitar. Shit . . . I know it must have been a spectacle how he beat on that thing and wailed and moaned from the bottom of his heart ’cause he was a grown man now . . . a grown man whose chances for a dad were over.