I've only seen my father, Carmine, a handful of times since my parents divorced when I was 18, about a decade ago. He lives in the South now, and I have no idea what he does for a living. He's never told me, and I've never asked. One of the last times we hung out, I picked him up at a Courtyard Marriott in Central New Jersey and drove him to my brother's graduation.

This was in 2013. He kept telling me to slow down for fear I'd get pulled over—he had warrants out for his arrest. (For what he never told me, and I never asked.) He didn't have a ticket for the commencement ceremony, and instead of getting one, he "snuck" in by climbing a chain-link fence on the opposite side of the assembled stadium crowd and onto the football field.