My father was a long-haul truck driver. He piloted one of those 18-wheelers that had a horn that could raise the dead. As a kid, I longed to join him on his journeys and discover something of the world beyond Huntsville, Alabama, where we lived.

Despite his numerous promises, he never took me along. That failure, and the addictions of his that defined much of my childhood, gave me an education of a different sort. I learnt that the world could be cruel and disappointing.