He sat awkwardly in a folding chair and watched his kid play soccer. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt authentically comfortable. His back was the prism through which he viewed the world. He hadn’t seen his parents in years, and his kids learned early not to ask about them. His wife made enough of her own family to excuse his pretending that he didn’t come from one. The whistle blew and the kids ran to the sidelines. For some guy out there, he thought as he stood up with the sun in his eyes, it’s good to be alive.