Healing Toxic Masculinity

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

Introduction: My Father

It’s 1983, and I’m 11 years old. My father usually sits across from me and my two siblings, who are 7 and 8 years old. Usually, we’d be at a Carl’s Jr., a burger joint that was popular on the West Coast, but not so much elsewhere as far as I know. My father always bought us a soda, not a meal, and then we would sit and talk. And once we had finished our soda, that was it until…