In my hometown, there’s a carpenter whose skills are exceptional—people within ten miles all come to him to have furniture made. He has a son who, ever since he was young, hasn’t liked to talk; whenever he sees people, he just lowers his head. The carpenter thinks his son is a waste of space and, at the drop of a hat, starts cursing: “Are you like a woman—can you lift your head?” The son didn’t finish middle school; he quit and started working at carpentry with his father. He does a pretty good job, but he still doesn’t talk much. The summer before last, the carpenter drank with a neighbor, got drunk, and then began berating his son again.