Sent to his bedroom to await the consequences of starting a fight with Matt, Cody's mind reflected on Earl Anthony Schroder, the only person in his entire life he could honestly and truly state he hated. Cody considered Earl Anthony Schroder nothing more than his biological sperm donor. If he could find a way around that abysmal fact and change it, he would.

My fierce hostility for Earl Anthony Schroder derived from the anger I felt every time I was injured, starved, sexually assaulted, or worse by the one person who was destined to be my sole caregiver for the first ten years of my life.

He was supposed to be my father. My father? Don't make me laugh! What type of father would do those sorts of terrible things to his own flesh and blood?

There is a well known expression that claimed, "Any man can be a father. Not every man can be a Dad."

Those words ring so true. To be a father all a man has to do is propagate with a woman. In, out, and the act is completed. I assure you that is all the credit I am forced to give Earl Anthony Schroder. If I could find a way to eliminate that fact about him, I would have...a very long time ago.

Let's talk about daily caloric intake. What daily caloric intake? Most of the time under Earl Anthony Schroder's roof the only caloric intake I consumed was what I filched out of the Amana behind his back. This always resulted in being knocked across the room and a comment such as: "What a complete waste of my good food" hurled at me.

Meanwhile, that same refrigerator was always well stocked with alcohol, usually Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and cheap Sutter Home strawberry wine. Please don't try to justify Earl Anthony Schroder's actions as him being a drunk. That charcteristic can not be disputed. However, I have heard the comment too many times to count and it simply does not hold water.

August 11, 2008. That is a day I will never forget. There are plenty more of them. I stood at the cracked porcelain sink in Earl Anthony Schroder's trailer washing his dirty dinner dishes. Once again, I'd done without supper. The housework was my responsibility. All of it. Or, at least, he thought it was. To him, that was a fair trade merely for my presence in his home. I accidentally splashed a small puddle of soapy water on the floor at my feet. That set the roaring ogre off!

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you filthy slacker!" he bellowed at me. "That water cost me hard-earned money you know. I'll collect every cent of it out of your hide!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'll clean the mess up right away," I nervously replied.

I reached over and pulled a paper towel off the roll that sat on the chipped countertop, bent down, and quickly wiped the water up off the floor.

That wasn't fast enough for him. He grabbed me by the arm and flung me into the living room. Physical assaults were a vaunted part of his arsenal. A hard slap across the face sent me sailing right through the screen door of his trailer. The door slammed closed behind me with a loud bang.

The dilapidated single-wide was hidden deep in the woods. Earl Anthony Schroder wanted no one to witness the atrocities that occurred inside his mobile home. Muddy roads. Muddy feet. I didn't live on no blacktopped street.

I landed with a thud in the sugar sand that surrounded the property. It wasn't much, except an eyesore. A rusted out Ford Fairlane stood on cement blocks. All four tires were long missing. A variety of weeds grew up in the backyard. Some as tall as I was. The leaves of the plantain were oval with distinct parallel veins. Their taps entrenched deep in the Texas prairie and easily tolerated being trampled upon. Goosegrass compacted the soil. Then, there was purslane. This cultivated from several sources and rapidly spread out of control.

Earl Anthony Schroder's trailer was green and white, with a tin roof that leaked during rainfalls. Although I squashed everyone of them I saw, cockroaches were frequent uninvited guests. Dipped in chocolate, they were a delicacy for Earl Anthony Schroder.

"Pure protein," he'd brag then pop one into his mouth, chew it up, and swallow the insect.

Commonly, because they had the audacity to trespass on his property, feral cats became target practice for Earl Anthony Schroder's .22 rifle. Afterwards, I was forced to dispose of their remains. I'd pick them up on a shovel and toss their carcasses into the creek that flowed by the woods while he delighted in his accomplishments.

"Hell, the wild critters around here have to eat, too," he told me.

Squalor filled the inside of the trailer. Beer cans piled up in mounds in all rooms, except the small corner sleeping space I was permitted. My bed was a blanket on the floor. No pillow allowed.

How did Earl Anthony Schroder escape the things he did? Why, I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of that subject yet. One way he accomplished this feat was he never permitted company.

"Out of sight. Out of mind," he'd say.

No one was ever any wiser to what transpired. However, feral cats weren't the only ones who lived in fear of Earl Anthony Schroder's wrath. Several times he pointed his loaded rifle at me. I never knew if he'd pull the trigger or not. Trembling, I didn't want to find out.

I quickly learned to mask the fear, because like a frenzied shark in a pool of blood, Earl Anthony Schroder fed on fears and weaknesses in people. And, his antics deteriorated from there.

These situations, and many like them, never allowed me to grow accustomed to feeling safe, wanted, or loved under Earl Anthony Schroder's dictatorship. They also threw the first ten years of my life into a continual tailspin and disconnected me from the outside world, save for school. I attended just clean enough, and regularly enough, for no one to latch on to how my home life was. For fear of retribution, I kept my otherwise big mouth shut.

How I desperately wanted to scream, "Somebody help me!" But, I couldn't.

My constant companions were inadequate emotions. Somehow, my consorts kept me alive during this unspeakable phase of my youth. I know my formative years weren't normal, but I camouflaged the abuse I endured because I never wanted to appear different from all the other kids in Palo Pinto.

I also formed a world in my mind I could escape to. In this charade, I could be anything I wanted to be. I adapted well to survival and my coping tools were acutely defined. In reality, these mechanisms were nothing more than fallacies. My means of continuity.

The back burner of life is where I placed the abuse Earl Anthony Schroder doled out to me. The means to the end suited me when I had nowhere else to turn and I could check out from my world of no hope.

I found false courage to stand up to Earl Anthony Schroder. Doing so resulted in persistently suffering his wrath. But, I couldn't allow that thought to enter my mind. I knew the path led to annihilation. Still, I followed it. Serious abandonment issues plagued me. Delusion ruled Earl Anthony Schroder's realm of existence.

Thunderous rants ran rampant in his trailer. My biggest fear was his next explosion and the fallout that would result. He relished in ripping apart what little self-respect I possessed. I was left dangling on the fringes of life. There was no eradicating the truth. Parental nurturing never happened.

Maybe I was the crazy one. Earl Anthony Schroder told me often enough that I was. Still, I never came to terms with why I had to suffer the hellacious abuse I received at his hands. Word gets around in a small town. Everyone knew the charlatan was dangerous.