This was the most frightened I'd ever been of my father. Scared that he'd hit me, that he'd tear me apart with that voice of his, with that hate of his. 

I remember him wanting to know if my brothers had taught me all those bad words. I didn't have the guts to tell him that I'd learned them all from him. 

I don't think he could have handled the truth, certainly not right then. If I'd told him the truth, he would have hit me—I'm pretty sure of it. 

So I learned to lie. Fortunately he didn't live that much longer, and I didn't have to lie to him that much longer, either.