But in a way, it was also a good thing. Because it planted something deep within me, a seed of anger that grew, that made me watch and ponder and learn, until I was strong enough to release my own rage. And if I could go back in time, I would pull my father aside and whisper in his ear: “Don’t give him the money; he’s full of shit. Lock the doors and call the police. I’ll get the knife.”
