A Crack in the Armor

I was 19 years old and working at the local greeting card store. I was living at home and going to college. One day, my dad stopped by the store, a fairly uncommon occurrence. I'll never forget how he looked when he walked in, dark shades covering his eyes, pants a little tight around the middle, a shamed look on his face as he slipped his glasses off. The bags under his haunted eyes made him look far older than his early 40s. A desperate tone was in his voice as he asked, "Do you think I'm an alcoholic?"