He was six when it happened. no one knew about it well no one but him. the first time he saw his daddy shoot up he watched for a minute then ran off to his room.

A week has passed he's walking through the front door. Of course no one heard him "pop"he listened again while slowly creeping down the hall to see what made that noise checking every room as he walked passed

He came to the last room, his parents bedroom, His mom was lying on the floor weeping into her hands as daddy kicked her stomach over and over again calling her dirty names. He turn an ran to his room not knowing what to do. That night mommy didn't come to tuck him in, she just lay crumpled in the tub crying.

I remember i used to think my father was a hero, my hero...until those nights occurred and he would go crazy punching, kicking, and, yelling at my mother until he finally ventured to me.