I can take a punch. I’ve had practice. I’ve had my lights go out. I’ve had that fucking rainbow come up on the horizon more times than I can remember.

The shots that hurt the most are the ones that have intention. The ones that have hate behind them. I call them “bull droppers” such is the elevation, windage and velocity.

They are well thought out, hateful missiles from hell. When you start to feel your face crack, you feel the love. It hurts so much more with intention.

You can forgive someone who just hauls off in a moment of haste. But someone who’s been loading up…

I got into it one Saturday afternoon with my father in the kitchen. I was 18 and had a belly full of beer. I also had a belly full of him. He was always picking away at someone and I was his favorite.

This afternoon, thanks to Anheuser Busch, he was mine. My brother had given me a bloody nose earlier, (nice house, huh?) and my father told me to quit being a baby and clean it up. I told him to fuck off.

He told me he was going to go in his bedroom for something and when he came back it had better be cleaned up. He loved ultimatums. Being full of bottled balls there was no way.

When he came back he had a door knob in his right fist. Then there was a huge white flash. I thought I was hit by a train. I don’t remember much after that.

I grabbed him in a front headlock, more to keep me from hitting the ground than anything.

I bled all over his back, the kitchen and the back stairs on the way out.

I will never forget that feeling. It must be like getting hitting by a car and not surviving. I never looked at him quite the same way again.

It’s not that I ever thought he didn’t love me, it’s just that I knew if he had to, he would have killed me.

That’s what hurts. More than the punch.

I say all that to say this: I was married to someone once who did a despicable act. To me. It wasn’t an emotional reaction to something I said or did. It was a slow, methodical, cruel, process that took a lot of time, effort and concentration.

She put a lot thought behind it.

That’s what hurts. More than the punch.