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The Day It Ended

He reached his bottom while sitting in a psychiatrist's office with his wife and son

My son just turned 21. I am 60. He was one-hour-old and tightly wrapped when the maternity ward nurse handed him to me 21 years ago. It was the first time I saw the face of God.

The celebration in the bar I owned at the time was long, loud and drunken. After all, the drinks were on the house. My wife and son weren't home from the hospital yet and that night at our house, I punched holes in the walls, ripped doors off hinges, smashed mirrors, and just about destroyed anything I could.

When my son was eight, he and his buddy, Matt, decided they would like to try karate. Matt's... Login to read more
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