I was six years old then when someone came knocking at our door around seven in the evening. I was asked to open it and so I did. After that, I saw myself standing in front of a huge man wearing a police uniform. That man was one of the people whom I feared the most, admired the most, and wanted to surpass the most – my father. He’s a huge, strict, man who had once killed a lot of people as a member of the army’s elite force – an example of this society’s idea of a real man.
What it takes to be a man
Nonfiction by Bobbie Labastilla | April 18, 2010