Mom used this time to do some laundry. I'd sneak-a-peek over my right shoulder and catch her coming up from the basement, arms loaded. I'd try to send a telepathic message, "Can't you make him stop?" "No, he'll come after me." It was true. You didn't raise your voice to Dad unless you wanted a fight. And believe me, Mom took him on plenty of times, even losing a tooth once. Bible readings apparently weren't worth the effort. Hours and hours of bible readings.
When he was done he'd close the leather-bound book all stern-like and pace around the room. Had he made his impact? Were we saved? Would we reject all sin, human frailty, Satan himself dressed in red satin dripping with sugar and video games? Would we obey? Yeah sure.
I still can't open a bible without a feeling of being shoved against a wall, suffocated, branded, whipped. The best book ever written and I can't read a word.