“It’s a dark day when your kids could send you to your room if they really wanted to,” she says. “Don’t worry,” I tease her. “I’m still scared of Dad.” “Thank god,” she says. I’m not actually scared of my dad. I might be if I only ever saw him on his own, with his electric stare and his way of barking orders that seems to snap men to attention like they’ve been hit with a whip. But then my mom sidles up to him, taking little jabs at him, making him laugh when you’re sure he’s never cracked a smile in his life. And you realize he’s got a soul after all, however hard he tries to hide it. He’s a
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