***MICHAEL POV***
In our youth, I was once hit on the head by a baseball bat courtesy of Steve throwing it at me. I had struck him out and he had a problem with that, so his retaliation was to take me out with the bat. Another wicked thing that all three of us boys had done was we had a juice box fight in my parents' freshly white-washed bedroom walls. Of course, the juice had to be fruit punch, so it left gorgeous pink stains up and down the walls. Despite the fact that that bedroom has seen seven or eight coats of paint in the years since then, you can still see the streak marks of how the juice dried.
The common thread in all of that is that in both of those instances, I thought Dad was going to stroke out from anger. His face had turned the color of beet pickles and he w
