Most of my life when folks would ask about my childhood, I would sum up the whole experience with, “Momma beat everybody in the house but daddy, and daddy beat up everybody.” Momma was at least predictable. Every morning we’d tip toe into the kitchen one by one and hold our breath. Who ever she spoke to first was chosen; their day would be hell, but the rest of us were safe. On the other hand, anything might set daddy off; he’d hurl his fists and demeaning slurs with the wild abandon of a… Continue