I must admit that I was still an angry adolescent1 in my first years of college. My anger was diffuse—the world didn’t please me in almost any way. My anger was focused—my parents didn’t please me at all. I chafed2 under my father’s direction and correction.
With limited finances, I chose to go to a local college andmute to classes every day. One day I had a serious fight with my father. I felt he was trying to control me, and I wanted to break free. He saw me as rebellious and tried to reassert3 his authority. We both exploded in shouts. I stormed out of the house and missed my bus to school. I knew that catching the next bus meant I would be late to my education class. That made me even more furious.
I fumed4 and sighed all the way to school. My mind was racing with angry thoughts a