Let’s be honest, his name isn’t Richard. (Does anyone know a Richard anymore, anyways? I certainly don’t… Then again, I don’t get out much) I’m calling him Richard ’cause he was a dick. He used to beat my mom, break her valuables when they argued, and I was “disciplined” for things. It’s an odd sensation, being an 8 year old child and knowing you’re being abused, plain and simple. Knowing and watching your mom fear for her own safety when an argument gets out of hand. I’ve seen her and him dance around a table as he’s trying to get … Continue reading 16. Richard