My father always made sure I was doing the right thing. He was a cop, but the kind you did not want to be on the wrong side of. He made me start working in a scrapyard when I was 17 to make sure I grew up fast... I never knew my mother and he rarely spoke of her, the one time he ever mentioned her I could see it was not a subject he was at ease with. He worked insane hours and when I did see him he was usually asleep on the couch after a couple beers.
As strange as it is, I kind of liked the life he had provided for me, I met alot of people in the scrapyard and learned how to talk to different people, It was hard work for small pay but I became apart of a strange community and felt like I belonged. My father eventually moved in to IA and retired, now he spends time on the scrapyard with his mates and me occasionally whenever i'm not out towing. It's a simple, unrewarding life to some but to me it's my community.