It always started with screaming, but it often ended in silence — for days or weeks.
On this particular night, I was in the kitchen when it started. I was about 14 years old. I don’t remember what made my father angry, but I know it was minor. It was always minor with him.
I might have used a tone he didn’t like. I might have forgotten to take out the trash. I might have forgotten to put a load of clothes into the dryer. As an adult, I now understand these are fairly minor things, but when I was a child, everything I did wrong was a cardinal sin — when he was in this mood.
I always forced myself to be completely calm. I wore a blank expression. Any sign of disagreement with him — or talking back to him in any way — would increase his fury. All I could do was stand like a statue and hope it would end soon.

‘This path leads to somewhere I think I can finally say, I’m home’
Economic Man needs no heart, because love and God are dead
My bad teen poetry suggests I’ve always hungered for missing love
We often value a love only after we’ve carelessly thrown it away
Hearing voice of the one you love can be medicine for hurting heart
Obama’s plan to ‘tax the rich’ is simply class warfare — and politics
Unmet childhood needs trigger addiction as I try to fill inner hole
‘Post-racial’ America? We’re nowhere close to that — and may never be