In my young age of 22, I have already experienced growing up on countless occasions, perhaps on too many occasions. Growing up in most cases was associated with earning the ire of my Dad. Our numerous “disciplinary sessions” would always follow a certain pattern. He would ask me what I did wrong, then when I am able to recite my offense correctly, penance in the form of leather connecting to my behind would inevitably follow. This was always followed by an explanation of why he did it; why I had to be......

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