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weeks ago,” he says. “I’ve been shooting off my mouth about how much I hate the direction the party’s going in, so I guess they were hoping to win me over. It didn’t work. Kirkwood is a self-righteous, condescending asshole. He was pissing me off, so I left. I was getting into my car when the kid came running after me and asked me if I was your father. I said I was, and the kid—Josh—said that I must be really proud of you.”
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    My father is used to answering tough questions, but this time, he hesitates.
    â€œI said that I didn’t know you.”
    I thought I was past being hurt by this man, but apparently not.
    â€œAt least you didn’t lie,” I say.
    My father moves closer. I can smell his aftershave. In the days when he was drinking heavily, he used to drench himself in it. For a kid, it was overpowering, but tonight I find the scent surprisingly comforting.
    â€œThere’s more,” he says. “Josh said I should get to know you because you were a really great person.”
    â€œSo we know that Josh’s not much of a judge of character,” I say tightly.
    My father pounds the table with his fist.
    â€œGod damn it, Charlie, this isn’t about you and me. This is about Josh.” He picks up the earphones on the desk in front of him and puts them on. “Turn on our mikes. Let’s do what we need to do.”
    I flick on our microphones and lean into mine. My voice is tense.
    â€œ We have a guest—Howard Dowhanuik, a political legend in our time, and my father. Howard and I are going to talk about what it’s like for a boy to grow up in his father’s shadow.”
    My father’s been staring at his hands, but when he hears my words, his massive head jerks up.
    â€œPolitics was just my job. I never made a big deal of who I was.”
    â€œYou didn’t have to,” I say. “There were people who did it for you. You were always surrounded by hangers-on, telling you how terrific you were, how brilliant your last speech was, how the country would fall apart if you didn’t win the next election. You were always away—righting wrongs and drying every tear.”
    â€œIt wasn’t that bad,” he says quietly. “I was around. Besides, you didn’t need me. You had a lot of friends.”
    â€œThey weren’t friends. They were kids who wanted to catch my act—see how high I’d go or how fast I’d drive or how many chances I’d take. Everybody noticed me except the one I wanted to notice me.”
    Howard looks dumbfounded.
    â€œ Is that really what all that crazy behavior was about?”
    I grab his arm.
    â€œIt wasn’t crazy behavior. I wanted you to pay attention. I wanted you to look at me. I wanted you to really see me. 1121, I hope you’re listening. This isn’t an act. This is the truth. I know how you feel. I know what it’s like to be lost in your father’s shadow.” My voice breaks. “I know what it’s like to have a father who’s larger than life.”
    Howard’s eyes are hooded.
    â€œI wasn’t larger than life. I was a scared Ukrainian kid who earned his way through university playing football. I ran hard because I was afraid that if I ever stopped running, people would see that I was nothing special.”
    My father and I lock eyes. I wonder if this is the first time either of us has ever really seen the other. We both earn our living with words, but suddenly neither of us seems to have anything to say. More dead air.
    Howard is the first to speak. “Do you remember the time I took you to see The Wizard of Oz ? You were just a little guy. You got scared and crawled up on my knee.”
    â€œI remember,” I say.
    â€œYou were scared of the Wizard because he was so powerful and he had such a big voice,” my father says. “But I told you to keep watching because