I never knew my grandfather. His name was John. Apparently John was a pecker-toothed sidle who raped his daughter when she was just twelve. Proud and foul he sat down on a moth infested, dirty couch every night drowning himself in cheap vodka, his wife reseeding. He raised his son Harold by taking him out to visit flashy, flamboyant prostitutes when he was just fourteen... this was how John decided to make a man out of Harold. Not only with whores did Harold first learn the true value of a woman but John's violent, ill-tempered treatment of Harold's mother also sharpened him. Mrs. John was merely the cook and maid who from time to time was smacked in the jaw just to keep her in line and show her who was boss. This was the only information on male-female relationships Harold had growing up. One day mercifully for all concerned, a permanent steel brace got loose at a Pennsylvania steel mill where John worked and crushed him into a pool of blood and urine when he was just thirty-four years old.
Harold married Dolly. Dolly was an auburn haired porcelain bisque, matte finished doll from a discriminating collections of dolls... her father's dolls. She was very pretty but not a witty woman, silent, shy and self-conscious. She was born in 1920 and lived in Hollywood during the 30's where she collected movie star photos and autographs. After she married Harold she gave birth to three children who grew up afraid while Dolly made Betty Crocker weekends and otherwise TV dinners. Soon Dolly grew very tired and sick from Harold's constant abuse. One day outside the brothers were playing with Dolly tossing her back and forth like a red rubber ball, one to another until they dropped her... Fragile, she shattered into pieces on the gray cement patio. Harold came out determined to put the pieces back together but clumsily, he repeatedly stepped on Dolly crushing the refined fragments into powdered dust.