All I could think about was Daddy. Not the man who had held the gun, but the man who used to come into my room and tuck me in at night, the man who would talk to me until I fell asleep, the man who would help me in my times of worry and distress.
Daddy was going deeper and deeper into his own imaginary world -- a world where alcohol made him a man, gave him a sense of wealth, and provided him with something no human would ever be able to give him.
I kept thinking about what had happened. Daddy had tried to kill Matthew and Mark, and we had kicked him out of the camper and left him in Canada. I'd been left behind once and had had to walk home. What if Daddy had to walk all the way to South Carolina?
We were rocking out as we pulled up to the United States border. And then I was suddenly afraid. Daddy wasn't with us, it was after midnight, and our leaving at this hour was, to my mind, a little suspicious.
His memoir, August Farewell, details the death of his partner to cancer and was noted by The Advocate magazine as one of the 21 Biographies or Memoirs You Should Read Now. It was a pleasure to speak with him recently about his life and journey to authorhood.
Daddy's expression was twisted with fury and madness. Suddenly the fiend in him focused in on the drawer beside the sink. With his one free hand, he reached over, opened the drawer, and pulled out one of the pistols.
In America there seems to be an increasingly widespread aversion to the act of reading. In support of that aversion voters have elected public officials whose profound ignorance and boundless stupidity threaten our society.
My affair with books reached an obsessive level of magnificence, from Louisa May Alcott to Jane Austen and George Orwell. I read whatever I could find in my parents' house. Reading was a part of my daily routine, just like eating or drinking water.
My feet refused to move; they were glued to the ground. I looked down at them and said out loud, "Move, damn it! Why won't you move?" But they wouldn't budge. It was at this moment that I realized I was terror-stricken -- gripped in the claws of fear.
Daddy walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Wait till you're older to try and smoke," he said. "There's no need to rush it. And please, whatever you do, don't smoke oval cigarettes in pink paper with a silver filter."
Gee and I found ourselves in the camper with Matthew, who had assumed a prissy attitude. He restated that we had come to the World's Fair as a family and that we should go to the exhibits as a family. We agreed, but what could we do? None of us wanted to spend the day in a bar.
Most of us who are avid readers as adults probably cut our teeth on mysteries. This summer, I have devoured so many amazing mystery novels that I started analyzing why this genre appeals to me so much.
I loved I Dream of Jeannie and always thought it would be great to have a genie in a bottle who would grant me three wishes. I'd probably end up forfeiting one of my wishes to get Daddy to stop drinking, because all that came out of his bottle was the devil.
Harry Potter is now the most banned book in America, according to the American Library Association. But these books have taught children to read, to think, to write and to criticize, all hallmarks of free expression.