Updated: Nov 20, 2020
On Saturday, December 1, 1979, just days before my ninth birthday, I was sitting on the couch when my thirteen-year-old brother suddenly burst through the front door, half carrying, half dragging our father who was bleeding badly from his head. My brother told me not to look, but I could not help myself. My dad had a gash from the top of his forehead on the left, across his right eye, and over to his right ear. I had never seen anything so horrific in my life. I thought my daddy was going to die.