I think, my father would say, therefore I am. And I think for myself, thus I am a man. Then why, I would ask, knowing that I, too, could think, am I not? Because, he would reply, you do not do so freely. The old revelation, always new, always cut like broken glass. And I could not help but wonder, why? Why make a son you have to compel? And how could I not think freely, yet realising that always, always hurt?
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