By Nancy Geibe Wasson
Like a treasure map to nowhere, my brother’s blotchy, tear-stained face gave all the clues. Dad said not to cry while getting belt spanked. Real men don’t cry when hurt. Crying is for girls. Years later, my brother learned how to stay stone-faced while Dad kicks him in the ribs and hammers him with his fist. While nursing my brother’s wounds, I admitted to him what Dad did to me late at night. My brother didn’t shed a single tear when he pulled the trigger. I cried when they took my brother to jail. Lucky I’m not a man.
Nancy Geibe Wasson is a writer from Northwest Arkansas. She enjoys books, cats, and tea, but is otherwise unpredictable in a good way.