The Kind of Father He Is
The castle was mangled. With just a glance, you could tell it was bad.
The main gate was completely exposed. The chains that once lowered the intimidating drawbridge were now severed. The drum tower, which had weathered the most obvious destruction, had its battlements crushed — so crushed that you could almost recreate in your head the sound it must have made the moment the blow came.
This thing must have been thrown down the stairs, I thought to myself. It was too obvious. Aside from its appearance, the wooden castle I held in my hands had been lying just a few feet from the last step leading down to the basement — the basement which functions as the kids’ main play area.
Yeah, for sure, this thing was tossed down these steps, I said to myself again, not wanting to believe it was true. So I called…