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Pictured: stupid.

I shot out of my seat, concerned at the monotone quietness his rage had produced, and bolted into our family room.

"Hey, hey, hey! There's no need for that. You need to calm down," I said in a panic. "It's just a game. There's no need for you to explode like that."

He glanced up at me, the rage flooding his eyes with indifference, and said, "Oh, no, it's not a big deal. These cars are just kind of hard to get used to when you first-"

I threw up my hands in defense and tried to wrangle his hatred. "Whoa there, cowboy! There's no need to take your frustrations out on me. Everyone in this house loves you very much. We just want to see you happy. Do you need some time to take a break and cool off?"

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That level of unsustainable rage can break a man.

He sighed and hit the "Retry" button, saying, "No, I think I can contain myself, Dad. I'll try not to fly off the handle like that again."

Always leery of Satan's trickery, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and cautiously backed out of the room, warning, "I'm watching you, devil host. You control your demons, or I will control them for you." I'd like to say that our problems ended there, but unfortunately, they were just getting started ...