I start 'em. You finish 'em. I set 'em up.

I start 'em. You finish 'em. I set 'em up. You knock 'em down. Let's do this dang thing. Ready? Good. You're gonna need your A-game today.

My father was deep into skee ball. He had a trophy case for all the wall-crawlers, chatter-teeth and other plastic doohickeys. I was his protegee. "It's how we roll."

we explained to observers, demonstrating near perfection in our skee-ball rolling skills. Playing skee ball was how me & my dad bonded. His love for me correlated with my score. If

is a word my dad hates. He tells me his truths when we play skee-ball. "Don't get me wrong I know The Lord is preparing me right now for my future husband" my dad said to me.

my reaction to this as i say to my dad " how is the lord preparing you " ?

"What kind of question is that?" he screamed. "Dad! What's gotten into you? Why would you even ask that?" I whispered, my voice cracking. He turned around and walked away, leaving

the garden hose spiraling at his feet. And as I peered through rage and tears at his hairy back receding into the Hollywood hills, I vowed to never, ever carry on the family name.

My father's lycanthropy, was like alcoholism. We never talked about it. When the moon waxed & his hackles were raised, we looked away. I won't be like that. Our Beverly Hills neigh

bors always wondered why we would lock him out during the full moon. They never understood the situation though.

He couldn't know about the vicious werewolf that hunts during the night on full moon nights. And that would be the last we saw of him, but we never stopped hearing the howling