“A chink, a spic and a nigger walk into a bar,” my father started the joke. The three neighborhood men grinned.
Even at my age, I knew that was no way to talk, but he was my father, strong and huge. Mom could shut him down, no one else. His way of talking, of hitting, was what made her run. I never forgave her for leaving me alone with him, but I did understand why she ran.
Click here to read the rest of the story …
I apologize if the opening line offends. I don’t use such language lightly. After reading Finding Voice, I hope you’ll understand my choice.
Till the next post, chris