We learned to forgive him. For what other choice did we have? In our house, in our world, hatred was not an option. If we did not forgive, the anger grew in our hearts, slowly eating away at us, we had to forgive him. For every time he hurt us, every time he drank just a little too much, there was a good moment, something special, to make it up. He loved us, even though the words rarely escaped their lips, we knew he loved us, because over the years, we discovered that no one could ever really hurt something that they didn't truly love. There was one other reason though, that we forgave them. It was something he had said to us a long time ago, when he was drunk. Madness flashed in the whites of his eyes, but we knew it would pass, although we always dreaded a day when it might not. He had hurt us, but we knew that the pain too, would pass. He had trouble speaking, and slurred his words, but still, he managed to choke it out. 'This is nothing compared to what my parents used to do to me!' Although the words were quiet, they hit us hard. We learned to forgive him, as he had not. He had let the anger eat away at him, and it had turned him into this. For anger is the strongest of all poisons, nothing devours you faster, and nothing has a worse affect. We learned to forgive him, for in the end, it was never him that hurt us, but the anger inside of him. It was not at these moments that we chose to judge him, but at the times when he forgot, and forgave, those tiny moments when all that he lived for was to make us happy. We always forgave him.