I was dreaming. Turning, Soaked in sweat, the flashes came quickly. An image of my father in his cassock standing on the pulpit settled beneath my shut eyes. I could see myself sitting in a corner, knees up, as I watched my father, the man who preached on love every other day, raise his belt in continuous rhythm. This time his rage was directed at mom. “Spare the rod and spoil the child” he yelled, as he punished her for burning the food. “Spare the rod” I thought three days later as I carefully mixed the poison with his food.