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Show in my father's house/350 almost as much about life. I came home before midnight, but Saul was seething. When I came in, he went to my room and began tearing the redwood from my walls. I sat on the livingroom sofa and waited for his rage to pass. I had seen his temper flare, and while I didn't want to be the object of it, I wasn't afraid. "I told you to be home early," he shouted. "It's midnight! You're not even sixteen yet! All you ever think about is yourself! You never give a single thought to what other people do for you. " I looked at him coolly. He sounded like my father, but he wasn't my father. "You're not my father," I said. "What?" He looked at me blankly for a moment, then comprehension came into his eyes. "You're right," he said evenly. "I'm not your father." He turned and stomped downstiars. "She shows no appreciation at all," I heard him tell Danny. I sat like a stone on the sofa, although I felt that an important bond, a necessary link in my life, had been broken. But I was determined not to cry or apologize for whatever he thought I had done wrong. The next day, while I was at school, Saul went to my room and replaced the redwood he had torn down. He never gave me a curfew or grounded me again. Aunt Racheldied of a heart attack the year I was sixteen. I sobbed all 'rzz^zr through the funeral, but I could not articulate to anyone - including myself - the sorrow I felt. My father was calm, as usual. He spoke of all she had accomplished in her life. I wondered why she had died |