Dad didn't tell me anything new that day. I was 18, and I'd already figured out a lot of this stuff on my own. I understood sex, and I don't mean that I'd learned watching videos of greasy-haired men giving fake orgasms to big-boobed girls.

 No, I'd been up and down the block with all types. I would've been much better-served by a real heart-to-heart on how to treat a girl right - something I'd never learned watching my parents argue, leaving my mom crying and my Old Man drunk on the couch. 

I had a crappy childhood growing up like this, but then again, everyone my side of town probably had.

 We were all unlucky enough to be born downwind of a big landfill, which meant property was cheap because the air **** reeked. It also meant real businesses wouldn't come in, and most of our parents worked for $6.28 and hour in manufacturing. I didn't mind that we didn't have dental insurance, and knock-off Jordans never bothered me. But growing up in LaBeouf left me aching to get out of the town that had only brought me down.