Cigarette Burns and Paper Chains

The oldest purely good memory that I have of my father is of a summer day when I was about five or so. It was just he and I, as it was for a few years until my brother got older. He had taken me out that day to some sort of city fair where we then stopped and got cotton candy from a vendor. The sun was shining so bright I remember having to squint my eyes, and I don’t remember much beyond his hand holding mine and the corner of the cotton candy cart. But then we got our picture taken together...