I stand in the kitchen, making supper, with our 18 year old daughter Kimmy. I hear the front door open and you walk in from work. From the foyer you yell "Sarah! Kimmy! Get over here!" We rush to the door to see you standing there, furious. "I thought I told you two I wanted you here, to greet me when I got home from work every day."
"I'm sorry sir. We were making dinner." I look down at the ground. "I lost track of time."
"That's no excuse Sarah! Get in the bedroom, both of you!"
I take Kimmy by the hand and we walk to the bedroom. "Are we in trouble mom?" she asks.
"Baby, just do what he says. Just like you always do." We stand beside the bed and wait to be told what to do.