Chapter 5 of my novel "The Trickster."

Skip

Responding to small-mindedness with small-mindedness is how violence is perpetuated. My father shook his head.

Once wise to resolve and patient to perform; the rush of his disapproval alarmed me.

I was nine years old. Our house was in the throes of exaggerated disorder. My mother, Siobhan was ringing her hands, threatening to send me to a psychiatrist. Haven’t we taught you that violence is unacceptable?

He punched me first. My rebuttal amplified my mother’s scorn.

Don’t lie to us. Your teacher said it was unprovoked.

I rolled my eyes.

Skip grabbed me by the collar. He practically lifted me out of my chair and in a growl I’d never heard from him before. Don’t you dare roll your eyes at your mother!

My face contorted with terror.

Do you see how this works? While Skip spoke the ruddy sun had begun to set in the picture window behind him.

His behavior was so out of character, I began to tremble… then cry. But as soon as my sniffling turned to sobs, he pulled me close… cradling me to his chest. Then in a softer voice he cooed. You’re not a violent person are you?

I shook my head.

His green eyes were moist with emotion. So why did you punch that boy?

Virtue seemed lost, I was so confused. He said that Debbie was a slut.

Debbie?

My mom gestured at my father; a coy smile suddenly appearing upon her face, Debbie is that the little girl Valek has a crush on?

I don’t have a crush on her, I blushed.

You punched that boy because he called her a name? The sinking sun darkened into night.

It made her cry.

Mom smiled and a fog misted her eyes. She hugged me and Skip messed up my hair. Well, my boy, why didn’t you say so?