My dad used to be a very loving and caring man. He loved my mom and I so much, everyday he would drop me off and pick me up from school and we would walk home before he had to leave for work.

He would spoil mom with gifts of jewelry and clothing and spend every waking minute with us if he wasn't at work.

He worked at the Asylum for years after retiring out of the military.

He said he needed a job that still had action and excitement, something to keep him entertained, and working with keeping the criminally insane did just that.

It wasn't until I was in my teens and my dad was up for a promotion that his true colors started to show.

I was sixteen, mom was in the kitchen working on dinner and I was at the dining room table working on homework. Soon dad would come in and kiss mom hello and smile at me asking how my day was. At least that's what usually happens.

Instead the front door was slammed open and closed, and dad came in looking angry.

"Hi honey, how was work?" mom called from the kitchen.

dad went into the kitchen, grabbed a beer and started to rant about his day.

"You're not gonna believe this, I got called into the Warden's office today. He tells me I'm up for chief of security as long as I keep my act together and the reports of excessive force end. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT!" he yelled, and I jumped. dad never shouted, he was always very level headed, it was one of the things I admired about him.

"Those pieces of garbage at the asylum need discipline, but those doctors do nothing but coddle them! I'M DOING WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE!"

I had never heard my dad talk that way, mom had taught me years ago that all life was precious, no one was lower or higher.

"Lyle, those people," she stressed it. She wasn't happy with his words, "Are there to get help, to heal before they can be reestablished into society. Granted yes, sometimes their trauma's are too great, but that doesn't mean they deserve discipline! They need understanding!"

Things in the kitchen got very quiet. I strained my ears to hear anything, no longer paying attention to my geometry homework. I could hear bubbling of whatever was on the stove, a glass bottle was put down, and heavy breathing. The breathing was getting louder, a scrape, then a bottle breaking. "YOU SAYING I'M WRONG! YOU SAYING I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO MY DAMN JOB!" he was screaming now...screaming at mom.

"Lyle, calm down, Lucy is in the other room." she was angry but mom wouldn't yell. Dad growled but didn't say anything, stomped over to the fridge and ripped it open before grabbing another beer and stomping upstairs to their room, the door slamming behind him.

I sat there stunned, my parents had never fought before, and I wasn't sure what to do. But I decided to check on mom. I quietly moved from the dining room table and stood in the doorway to the kitchen, "I swear that man is just like a child throwing a tantrum." mom muttered under her breath as she picked up the broken pieces of what I'm assuming was dad's first beer bottle.

"Mom?" she stopped and looked at me, "Are you okay?"

My mom stood to her full height, pushed back some hair that had fallen into her face and smiled at me. My mom was so beautiful, I was always told I was a mini version of her except her hair was blonde.

"Of course, sweetie. I'm fine, and so is your father. He just had a rough day. Could you mop this up while I finish dinner?" I was given a kiss on my forehead before she tossed away the glass and continued to the stove.

"And be careful, I might have missed some of the smaller pieces."

So did I, looking back on my childhood now, I missed so many smaller pieces.