One of my dad’s visits to anger came one time when we were supposed to go to Libertyland. I had invited all my friends, but when I went upstairs the night before, I could hear the wrong kind of tone—this baritone sound, the wrong kind of intensity. I went to my room and could hear loud crashing sounds. He was yelling his fucking head off at somebody. I could hear him saying that we weren’t going to Libertyland the next day. I was devastated. I found out later that he had run out of something again, and he needed to get it before we went—either that or they wouldn’t give it to him. So, he hit
...more
