“You think you know so damn much,” he spat. “You don’t know a damn thing!”

With that, Jerry’s father removed the small engine from the vise where it was secured and threw it against the garage wall. Parts, including the carburetor, broke off and bounced across the shop floor. A handsaw and level hanging on hooks fell from the wall and clattered to the floor. Jerry was only about 12 then, but he knew full well what was coming next—a jarring, open-handed cuff across the side of the head. Instead of waiting for the inevitable, he turned and ran. Despite yells and curses for him to stop and come back, he kept running—to his secret hiding spot, where he hunkered down and stayed for most of the day.

Jerry’s story is just one of many I’ve heard o...

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