If you’re a kid reading this, there isn’t anything you can do about it, but grownies can at least remember—when you fight in front of kids, what you’re really doing. To us, parents are like blankets. Or parachutes, in a world that is otherwise full of snakes, and leopards, and Committee men, tornadoes, bullies, and death. And as a kid, you’re looking out and seeing all this with a near constant spike of adrenaline—always a second from panic—because you understand you can’t do much. You’re a little ball of soft meat with no shell or escape skills or battle strategies. You’re a milk drinker with
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