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
Rational rules don’t apply when the state gives itself a monopoly
Are government employee unions making the rest of us unsafe?
In a relationship, some words more important than ‘I love you’
With each ‘improvement,’ we’re losing family and community
The Fourth Amendment? Hmmmm. No, we’ve never heard of that one
To enjoy ‘Atlas Shrugged Part II,’ you’ll have to grade it on a curve