While my father and some other members of my family were upstairs, I was in the basement of a house. I had several record albums which contained various plays of Shakespeare. Upstairs, my father and the others were going to do something with some plays of Shakespeare, but I did not want to be involved with what they were going to do and I intended to refuse to be involved with them. If my father tried to force me, I figured we would probably have a fight. In the past he had tried to force me to participate in their activities, and when I had refused, he had beaten me until I had submitted, but now I felt as if I were strong enough to resist.

Soon I heard my father coming down the stairs. He walked over to me and acted as if he were going to be affable, but I knew it was only a ploy. First he picked up the album which contained King Lear. Then he put it down and he picked up the one containing Hamlet, which was probably my favorite. When he tore some paper off the front of the album, I called upstairs to the others that he was tearing up my album. I thought my time to react had arrived and I began struggling with him. We fell to the floor; I soon thought I would have the best of him and I wondered if I would start hitting him in the head.