For about as long as I can remember my daddy wasn’t right in the head. I’m told at one time he was but I was so young and it’s been so long, I have little recollection. I used to have a brother named Kyle who was fifteen years older than me. He died. All that’s left is a glossy photo of him in his Army uniform hanging over the fireplace. We don’t speak much of Kyle. Momma won’t allow it. Kyle looked a lot like my dad, but everyone says I favor Mom with my blondish/red hair and ridiculous freckled face. Kyle had more of a chiseled face with high cheekbones and a square chin, favoring Dads half Choctaw lineage. Mom guesses she’s Irish based on her fair skin and red hair, but as an orphan, her chain was broken, meaning that a huge portion of my chain is also broken.