does it change the impact of the piece if you know it's completely autobiographical?

It doesn't change the impact of the piece, but it gives me a lot more insight into what makes up your character. I'm always amazed at how much the peeps here are willing to reveal of themselves. Me, I know I'm a bit of an exhibitionist (hee), but some folks aren't, yet share some of the most astounding personal pieces of themselves. I always feel very honored when I'm trusted with those key pieces to a person's innermost being.

Daddy

He never really meant it to be a lie. I was just too young to realize that surfaces are not the whole of a man.

He gave me hints, telling stories to the only child who wanted the fun things of Daddy's world--how cars work, the staticky stations on his shortwave radio, what he did during the war--as opposed to the girly things of Mother's world.

Then he was dead, and I was left with fragments: a collection of swizzle sticks from bars in World War II New York, a story of being in a plane flown by a daredevil, my mother once saying she was glad someone knew what they were doing on the wedding night.

Not that he would have told his youngest daughter anything good, but I wish he'd lived long enough for me to become smart enough to find the truth for myself.

I assumed it was autobiographical (edit: Karl's). Damned near everything I write is autobiographical, these days - it's the price of admission to my own damned midlife crisis. And there's a certain ring, a certain bite, a certain edge that seems to add to autobio pieces.

And yes, Karl, you're right - your rage may vary. For me, he'd promised her and even though she pissed all over it, he stuck to it, and I bled for it. So the whole concept has teeth. I suspect a lot of readers will react very viscerally.

Which means, of course, that the piece did its job, and very effectively, too.

She says we’re going to leave him this time. She promised.

We’re going to have to live with grandma and grandpa for a while, but then we’ll have our own house and daddy won’t be there to yell or hit or bring nasty women home.

Maybe mommy won’t drink so much when daddy isn’t around.

She told us to wait in our room while she tells daddy that we’re leaving, but it’s taking so long. Tommy said I might as well unpack my suitcase but Christie said I don’t have to listen to him. Big brothers think they know everything.

Karl, that last line was my mantra, summer 1998.

Ouch, Nicole. These drabble are all beautifully painful.

I will never think of them as lies; they're stories about how the world could be. There could be fields of dental floss growing wild in Montana. Those movies could be from back when the world was in black and white, before color was invented. There are friendly monsters in the closet and under the bed, and cats can talk, they just don't feel like it right now. There are secret doors that lead to magical lands, and someday I will find the right word of power to say when I close my eyes and snap my fingers or twitch my nose. Of course I'll be able to cast spells. Of course I can be anything I want to when I grow up.

None of these are lies. Lies are things that aren't true.

Oh, Jilli. That's perfectly turned. Thank you. And please say thank you to the devilbunny for me, as well. I shall see what I can do about bringing my back stock of mind control lasers to the F2F.

Jilli, I love your take, because I don't really have anything angry or hurtful for this topic. I almost don't have anything fanciful like your own, either.

Karl, I can feel your piece in my belly. Ooof.

Maybe I should write about a white one...like if I'm myself, people will like me. Well, now, but at sixteen? Because I was this, pretty much, though I tried not to be, then.