Me again. :) After much thought, a decision has come about. If I happen to outlive my mother, then I'll be changing my last name to that of her parents. She'd doubtless disapprove, else I'd have done it years ago. The logic is simple: after my dad beat me bloody at the age of 7, I no longer considered him my father. He left when I was 9, which may well have saved my life. Wounds heal, but scars stay with you to the end of your days. Mine run deep, inward and outward. You can hate those you love, as odd as that may seem. I loved the old man, but never have I hated another human being more. He's long dead, and it pains me to this day that I never told him how bad he hurt me. Probably wouldn't matter, he was an ice-cold sonofabitch when it came to his boys. Daughters, no, he was the grandest of gentlemen with my sisters, and rightly so. Us boys had to fend for ourselves, like he did. He was making us tough, like he was. In my case, he made me mean and bitter in some respects, and thoughtful and caring in others. If he were alive today, I'd drink a toast to him... then knock him on his ass.