Bite Your Tongue

Every time I was beaten as a child, I would go for a walk. I'd walk around my farm to the edge of our land. I would take a hammer, and put a nail in a fencepost at the corner of the lot. Over the course of seven years that I can remember, I placed nail, after nail, after nail.... Then one day, the day he beat my mother to death, he finally realized the damage he was dealing, and how serious his drinking problem was.
He never drank again, and he never hit me again after that day. We were always close since then, and I had forgiven him for everything he had done. Every time he had done something nice for me, I would go to that corner post and I would remove a nail.
A few years later, when my father was 68 years old, he died of lung cancer. The day he died, he told me he loved me. This was one of the only times I remember him ever saying that. And I walked to the fence post, where I realized there were no more nails to remove. The fencepost was bare. I looked at it for a moment, and placed my head in my hands.
I had always looked forward to the day when the post would be free of nails, but all I did was cry. I bawled harder that day than any other day I can remember. All I see now is a fencepost covered with holes.