My father began drinking heavily when I was about 8. I didn't find out until I was about 11. So one fine spring morning, I came downstairs in the morning to find my father exceptionally hung-over sitting at the kitchen table. Now while he was never abusive physically, he's always been an asshole, even sober. He's just a downright mean spirited dude. I knew action had to be taken while I had the chance. That morning I made my breakfast with all the blinds open, allowing all the gloriously bright sunlight to fill the room. I made eggs, and in the process banged the shit out of the pots of pans making my kitchen sound like the guns of fucking Navarone. He didn't want me to know that he drank, so he grinned and bore the torture. Best. Eggs. EVER.