Once, at the end of the school year, one of my high school students, who I'll call Roy, was really having a bad day. He always dressed in black, had long stringy hair, turned in poor work, and acted like he was perpetually trapped in the middle of a bad day. That day he seemed even worse, so I asked him to stay a few minutes after class.
     I asked him if he had any idea why he felt so badly. Nearly in tears he blurted out, "I think my father hates me. Last night he took my little broth...