Everyone seemed to know a version of my father that I’d never met.

One man told me Dad had repaired his amplifier without charging him.

Another remembered him driving across town to help set up equipment for a charity concert.

A woman said he’d quietly contributed money when her family was struggling.

I listened.

I thanked them.

And with every story, I wondered why he had found it easier to show kindness to strangers than to his own son.

At the cemetery, Marcus stood beside me.