Always with the yelling, whether to come home or go out, sometimes with the belt, sometimes with the strop. To clean your room, to get up, to eat. Yelling at the kitchen table until somebody cried. That's the way it was. Didn'’t know any better, other kids were yelled at too. The houses were only eight feet apart. When someone was on the warpath in the neighborhood, you knew it. Afterwards, never a reconciliation. I got out as soon as I could afford it. Then I realized that you could go through life without yelling.
Did the yelling make a difference? Sure. Thanks for the memories, dad.