There is really no need to spell it out in complicated terms; I simply turned out to be a jerk. It was not that I could not be a jerk, or couldn’t be kind. I could. Which somehow makes it worse. Just so long as people remained outside the sancta sanctorum of “bothering me,” whatever that meant. You might call it my natural repellent to closeness. A repellent that only concentrated as I grew older. I could be kind to my friends in the social world, and I could, and did, hate my enemies, obviously—who wouldn’t?—but then there was my family, whom I justly considered much more than my friends but treated much worse than my enemies. So which of the four groups making up my entire world was guilty? Out of my enemies, my friends, my family and myself, it was I that was guilty and the rest innocent. My enemies were simply doing the same as I. Namely, hating those who were wrong around them or to them. My friends as well, to my way of thinking, doing right only by those who did right by them. But my family was, of course, most of all like me. And just like me—just people; human beings wanting only to be human and be seen as human, yet more so and most was the harm for their closeness, as I said. For they beheld the holy of holies. They alone were allowed secret access into that most ancient, inner circle of divine privilege: our home. But instead of finding it sacrosanct, they found it sanctimonious. Behind the veil, increasingly egregious displays of arrogance, unkindness, and petty cruelty were waiting for them from their father. And these displays with the banner of “love” hanging over them.