I didn’t like hearing myself through Dad. It was only when Dad ordered Mom to stop crying that I understood we were bullies. We ordered her to be happy as if we knew what it meant to be happy. As if a person was not happy because they simply forgot to write it on their to-do list. We knew from experience that nothing we said or did would work, but we couldn’t help ourselves; it was our job as the slightly happier people to make her happier. We were like corrupt policemen at the dinner table. We applied blunt force. We did not listen very well, and often spoke in commands. Go outside. Get a
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