At My Purple Heart Ceremony, My Stepmother Swung a Folding Chair Into My Arm—Then My Father Looked Down Instead of Protecting Me
“You didn’t need the extra public attention today.”
“No, sir.”
“I’m sorry you got it anyway.”
“Not your fault.”
He looked toward my splinted arm.
“Neither was that.”
I knew what he meant.
People who grow up inside abusive families become experts at finding the microscopic decision that supposedly caused someone else’s behavior.