“When he was born I took him see his grandfather. I brought him to the construction site where he worked, so they could meet. But my dad didn’t even make an effort. It was the same thing I remembered from my childhood. Never once do I remember: ‘Oh, let’s go to the water park.’ He’d spend all his money on friends and girls. And when he did come home he was always screaming, always hitting. For every little thing: if we didn’t brush our teeth, if we didn’t help out enough around the house. He treated my mom bad too. I tried to stop it. When I got older people would have to physically separate us. The anger is in me too. It comes from the inside. I’ll start to get mad, and suddenly it’s all over me. But whenever that starts to happen, I think: ‘I’m not going to be him. I’m not going to be him.’ I’ll walk away and calm down. Then I’ll come back and apologize. I’ll say: ‘What you did was wrong. But it was also wrong for me to speak that way. And I promise not to be like that again.’ I try to show him respect. Even though he’s a kid, he deserves the same respect as any person, even more, actually. Because an old person knows what’s going on, and he doesn’t. I always say goodnight with a kiss. And I just try to be as patient as I can. Always, always, always. I can read the way he is. Like, he doesn’t need to tell me if something is bothering him. Because I can see it in his face. He’s a super kind boy. I haven’t noticed any anger in him at all. Not at all. Sometimes I worry, that I need to push him a little harder to be tougher. Because he’s just so kind, I mean, look at him. Look at him.”
