Deep-seated Rage

You never knew if my father was going to explode. It was like watching a ticking time bomb. Once, at a family gathering, my cousin ran off crying after playing too rough with me. My father saw him crying, and in a drunken rage, beat me, then wrapped a clothes line around my neck and attempted to hang me. I couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t care. I was 13. I guess he forgot that I wasn’t a child anymore and he couldn’t quite lift me up. None of the 40-some people tried to stop him, because everyone feared him. I swore that I would never turn out like him, so I stayed away from alcohol. At that age, I recognized part of the problem as alcohol, but later, in the midst of my disease, that would elude me.