When I was 10 years old, I called my younger brother an [deleted]. He carried this to the Old Man, who immediately summoned me into the house where he was fixing the washing machine.
Him: “Do you know what ‘[that word]’ means?”
Me: “Yeah, the hole in his bottom. But he—!”
Before I could finish, the Old Man scooped up some laundry detergent and crammed it into my mouth, holding it shut while taking the long way around warning me not to say that word again.
Bad as it was, I counted myself lucky. ...
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