Sometime around the age of six or seven you sent me to a psychiatrist. Her name was Dr. Glass. She watched me. She watched me draw with chalk. She watched me draw with crayons. She watched me perform puppet shows. I sat in her office while she asked me questions I didn’t understand. After weeks of evaluation she brought both of you into her office and told you I was afraid of my dad. It wasn’t my dad I was afraid of. It was you. I was afraid of you. That is the legacy of damage you leave behind.