“Where did you get that coke?” My father suddenly asked me as I was standing to the side of the sliding door waiting to hop in the van.

“I bought it at the front desk,” I replied.

“That’s your mother’s Coke, isn’t it?” I glanced over and saw my mother, who was obviously thirsty and, like me, not enjoying the heat.

“No, I bought this at the front desk,” I retorted, making sure to say it respectfully.

“Show me the receipt.”

“I didn’t receive a receipt, but you can ask the front desk clerk.”

“Stop lying, Ethan, that’s your mother’s Coke. She had it right here, went to the bathroom, came back and it was gone. Now you have a Coke bottle. Why did you take it?”

“I didn’t!”

“Then where is your mother’s Coke?”

“I don’t know, but I didn’t take it. This is a Coke I bought. Ask Alex, he saw me with it.”

I didn’t want to drag Alex into anything, but at this point I was getting really annoyed. My entire life to that point, my father was never wrong. Even if he was, he would never admit it. It was always someone else’s mistake. Someone else’s fault. Someone who was lying. Even if proof were presented to him, it would be ignored. He was right. End of story.

After 17 years of this, annoyed at lugging heavy suitcases from Idaho to Equador, and uncomfortable with the relentless sweating, I had had enough. I decided I was going to stand my ground this time.

“Sorry Ethan, I didn’t notice you with a Coke bottle when I came down,” Alex interjected. He probably didn’t notice but even if he did, we both knew that if we both got involved we would then both suffer the consequences. I decided not to dwell on it.

“Maybe Alex didn’t see me, but this is my Coke. I bought it and didn’t steal Mom’s Coke,” I said, my voice shaking and struggling to stay steady. It took all my strength to refrain from yelling.

“How could you lie straight to my face so easily?! And when we are here on a missionary trip, on our way to a church to spread the message?! How could you have such evil inside you?! Confess now and we can take the evil out of this group! Confess now and you can be forgiven!”

These might not be the exact words my father said, but they are not far off. It might seem a little excessive and melodramatic, but my father was like that. By the time I was 16 I was disowned more times than I could remember.

I was told I had the devil inside me, made to stand up in front of our church and confess things that I did not do, and was called Cane (from the biblical Cane and Abel story) on many occasions. My father had a habit of yelling and degrading you so much that it would wear you down until you eventually gave in to his demands.