tins of Vienna sausages littered the floor. On one of the mattresses,
Billy's father was snoring unevenly. His mouth hung open, and flies were
gathered in the stubble of his beard. A wet stain had darkened his pants
nearly to his knees. His zipper was undone, and his gross penis dangled
to one side. I stared quietly, then asked. "What's the funny thing?"
"Don't you see?" said Billy, pointing at his dad. "He pissed himself!"
Billy started laughing.
I felt my face turning hot. "You're not supposed to laugh at your own
father," I said to him. "Ever."
"Aw, now, don't go get all high-and-mighty on me," Billy said. "Don't go
and try and pretend you're better than me. 'Cause I know your daddy ain't
nothing but a drunk like mine."
I hated Billy at that moment, I really did. I thought of telling him about
binary numbers and the Glass Castle and Venus and all the things that
made my dad special and completely different from his dad, but I knew
Billy wouldn't understand. I started to run out of the house, but then I
stopped and turned around.
"My daddy is nothing like your daddy!" I shouted. "When my daddy
passes out, he never pisses himself!"
At dinner that night, I started telling everyone about Billy Deel's
disgusting dad and the ugly dump they lived in.
Mom put down her fork. "Jeannette, I'm disappointed in you," she said.
"You should show more compassion."
"Why?" I said. "He's bad. He's a JD."
"No child is born a delinquent," Mom said. They only became that way,