I remember the sound of his truck. The whining motor straining as it climbed the hill to our house. To this day my chest tightens when I think about it. No matter what was going on everything stopped and little voices screamed, “He’s home. Daddy’s home. His truck is coming!” And little bodies and tiny feet scurried everywhere.

I was ten and Adrianne was nine, yet we screamed like wardens at our seven-year-old brother because he had not taken out the garbage, at the five-year-old twins because their clothes were scattered on the floor, at each other because we knew what was about to happen. He would soon come through the door and life would change, instantly. Arriving home after school all of our time was spent in frantic anticipation of what would happen. And something always happened.

The front door would open and he slammed into the room. His black, curly hair was soaking wet from working construction all day, a red bandana tied around his forehead did little to slow the stream of sweat running down his face and allowing his tee shirt to stick to his thick body. His countless tattoos were barely visible through the dirt and grime and his breath always smelled of beer.

I learned early that chores were critical and if the younger ones did not complete their list I'd hear, "You better damned well do them or make sure they do." It was his rule that retribution would follow and not just for one – but for all. He never demeaned one. When he started he went down the line – everyone got his or her shot – that lousy, vicious, hurtful, belittling, shot. When you don’t know any better you get used to it. It was normal – for you.

Dinner was never pleasant. It was always met with anticipation, terrified anticipation. I could have survived on crackers and water had I been given a choice. There was no laughing or telling of stories. There were no asking questions. There was no, well, anything. He demanded his supper and quiet. I mean absolute silence. We sat at the table, all ten of us. My mother at one end, he at the other, and the rest sprinkled along the sides and baby in the high chair. We ranged from fourteen months to ten years.