My father didn’t like people. He didn’t like me. “Children should be seen and not heard,”
“He just stares. He’s so quiet.” “That’s the way we want him.” “Still water runs deep.”
Why did he wear those knickers? What did he want? I really didn’t like him. I took some more of his potato chips.
Note: This thought progression is dangerously close to my own.
while they still hated me, it was a better kind of hatred, like they weren’t quite sure why.