MY SON H.I.T ME 30 TIMES IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE… SO THE NEXT MORNING, WHILE HE WAS SITTING IN HIS OFFICE, I SOLD THE HOUSE HE THOUGHT WAS HIS
I counted each of the slaps.YES One. One. Two. Three. By the time my son’s hand hit my face for the thirty-thirty-time, he had a split lip, his mouth knew me in blood and metal, and any denial that still stuck as a father had disappeared. He thought he was teaching me a lesson. His…
