When I was 19, Dad sent me down to MusicFest to get one of his musician clients to sign some contracts. I had no problem w/this as I'd known this man all my life. I located the bus that he & his band were in. It was around 10am, but they were all drunk. The musician closed the door to the bus & I got scared cuz I pretty much knew what was about to happen. The musician was about 6'4" and 320lbs (to my 5'6", 115lbs), so I knew I was screwed, metaphorically speaking. He grabbed me & began to molest me, laughing at my efforts to break away. Inside, I was freaking out; then I realized I had 1 way out. Holding up the contracts, I reminded him what they were, asking him if he still wanted the deal. He paused... I told him to let go of me & open the door. As I began to exit the bus, I held up the contracts, ripped them in half & threw them up into the air. I told Dad all this, but he didn't believe me. That hurt. (My "bad thing" follows.)
When I was 35, I learned the musician had died. Mom & Dad drove up to Memphis for the funeral, & I went with them. As the church full of people mourned & cried, I shed not a tear. The mourners filed past the casket as did I, stopping to look for a bit. Mom thought this was a bit odd for me, given the history between us, but said nothing. When we got in the car she asked me why I came to his funeral. I said coldly, "I wanted to make sure he was dead."