I was only 12 when my dad started working as a repo man and I thought it was so cool.

The way he described it made me think he was some sort of mercenary, you know.

He sat me down and said to me,

Hey buddy, I'm going to work, a guy didn't make his car payment on time,

so the dealership is sending me out to take his car away and being 12 I responded with well did

the guy say you could take it and my dad would chuckle and say, No, no he didn't.

But he's a bad guy who won't pay for the thing he bought.

So in a way he's stealing it.

And thieves are bad.

So, I'm the good guy, the car sellers are having fixed the problem.

Well, as a 12-year-old who was more into Power Rangers, it checked out to me.

I did think it was a little weird, he would only go to work at night, but if he was taking

things from people, it made sense to go when they'd likely be asleep. It was three weeks after he talked to me that he got badly beat up.

My father is a big man. He's 6 5 and 275 pounds.

He used to be morbidly obese, had a heart attack, and then decided to get fit as hell and

turned into a health nut who can bench twice his body weight.

Between his size and his bushy brown and grey beard, bold head and nose ring that made him look

like a bull, he was a scary son of a gun. Seeing him sitting in a warm bath, his face

smashed into ground beef was jarring. As soon as I entered the bathroom, he looked up at me and smiled and I could see

who was missing a tooth or several. Hey champ How do you sleep?

I couldn't respond, and he nodded.

Yeah, it's pretty nasty.

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