Sing praises to the Broken
I have some great memories from my childhood of congregation picnics, gatherings, and camping trips. The food was always so good and the camaraderie was pure and unquestionably genuine. I can still see the stark generational contrasts through my youthful eyes. Every child was a child of the same age and every adult was old. I can hear the laughter of my father and the other elders as joked in their ancient colloquy. I can still smell the BBQ. All of the cooking and seating was coordinated peacefully and without a single grumbling of discord. I absorbed this symphony of cohesion without ever actually listening to the notes being played. After all, this was my tribe and my community whom I trusted them. These pristine images are the underpinnings of my indoctrination and they were lies. My parents and the parents of my friends were engaging in a ruse. They were play acting unity, all the while suffering silently. Many of the wives and children were being abused. If not