I don't care how miserable your damn life is, you don't do that to your children. In the worldwide scheme of things, my emotionally violent childhood was on the mild end of the abuse spectrum. But I took it hard. Experience is relative when you're young and tender. I remember swearing to myself when I was still in single digits, I'll never be this mean to my children. As it turns out, I wasn't. I kept my promise. I was a better father to my son – and he is an even better father to his children. The cycle of evil is broken. People tell me I have to forgive my father. They sincerely believe I'll feel better if I forgive him. Forgive him? I don't even know what that means. You forgive him if it makes you feel better. I understand my father now. He's a long time dead, and I miss him now. He was trapped in an alcoholic living hell. I get it. I'd like to talk to him about that. But forgive him? Not going to happen. It's not going to change what happened. The best thing I can say about my childhood is that it's over. My dad did a lot of good things, but he did a whole hell of a lot more horrible things. I owe much to him, and I am grateful for that. And in some strange way I still love him, but … You don't do that to your children. Any child. The wounds of childhood abuse may heal. But the scars are forever. # # #