With a childhood like mine, I swatted away any consideration that something was off with Art. After all, I was the one abused, abandoned, and bullied. I truly thought our issues were my issues alone. I didn’t know how to address what I couldn’t figure out. I wasn’t making the connection that Art was crying out for more as well. I just thought he grew up in a quiet house. And quiet means perfect, since people aren’t yelling at each other. Since Art didn’t yell, I thought he was fine. I never made the connection that people who are quiet are sometimes the ones in the most pain. It’s just that
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