Sixteen Years Ago I had a fight with my father. It was midday. He said things; I said things. I was a teenager. The argument wasn’t all that serious—we just didn’t want to back down. I was a lot like him in many ways, and he was a broad-shouldered, anxious, and short-tempered man. He stepped down a few stairs and struck me across the face—a hard slap. He said, "In this whole barn, there isn't a single son who stands against his father the way you do." That slap, that fight, that moment—i...