Seession #1

Connotation Press

“Tell me everything you know about your father.”

“I know very little.”

“Tell me the little that you know.”

“He’d get so angry at my mother that he’d punch the walls.”

“Go on.”

“He would do anything for his friends. He’d put them ahead of his family.”


“For a big man, he was light on his feet.”


“He loved my grandmother—my mother’s mother.”


“That’s it. That’s all I know.”

“How do you know he was light on his feet?”

“My mother said so—many times.”

“And the part about his putting his friends ahead of is family?

“My mother . . . but . .   .”

“The same with punching the walls?”


“And your grandmother, did she tell you that also?”

“My grandmother never spoke to me about him.”

“Why do you suppose?”

“It was that period of time where children heard whispers and had to guess at what was being said.”

“Who, if anyone else, talked about your father?”

“No one. I saw things for myself.”

“You did? What did you see?”

“I saw him cry. He was at my grandmother’s funeral. I had to sit with him.”

“Did he talk about your mother?”


“What bad things did he say about her?”

“I can’t remember anything. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t say anything.”

“Did he say anything good?”

“He said nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. No. Wait. After the funeral, when we were driving to the cemetery he told me that there were three sides to every story—his, my mother’s, and the truth.”

“And how did that make you feel?”


“Angry? Why angry?”

“Because he was saying my mother was a liar.”

“Do you think your mother was a liar?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”


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