I’ll never forget the look in my mother’s eyes as you beat me up with words when you drunkingly harassed me at night. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes if I didn’t do as I was told, if I didn’t address you as sir, if I didn’t have the right attitude, as you beat me with your hands. The same hands that helped me onto your shoulders when I was too tired to walk. The same hands that held me at night when I was too scared from a nightmare or scary movie I’d watched earlier that day to fall asleep. The same hands that clapped for me while I competed in a cheerleading competition. The same hands that carried me inside when I wrecked my bike and scraped my knees to the bone. The same hands that touched my sisters and brothers bodies the same way you did mine.