Growing up, our kitchen was a battlefield. The signal to batten down the hatches? Dad’s lunch pail, landing with the force of righteous thunder on the chipped counter. That clanging thermos had more authority than the President. “This is my house,” he’d declare, chest out, sweat still fresh on his brow. “I pay the bills. I’m the boss.�

“The Earth Angel Who Refused to Fall”by John DavisThe world breaks everyone, they say. And afterward, many are strong at the broken places. But there are some who refuse to break at all, even when the whole damn world tries. One of those men is Roy Dawson.He was not made from ordinary stuff. He was fire and silence, the kind of silence that mak