Homeless and adrift, I found my friend Mark on a park bench. The Gainesville square was all but deserted. A slight evening breeze rustled through the trees, and Mark sat alone, watching life pass by.
Several weeks ago, Mark’s dad passed away. It’s been fifteen years since Mark saw him, yet the memories still burn raw.
“My dad used to beat me with a leather strap. “I would cry and cry. One day, I decided I wasn’t going to cry anymore.”
Mark’s eyes gloss over. “My sisters screamed, “Mark, just cry! He’ll stop beating you if you cry.’ But, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction anymore… Continue Reading
