Our angers are three points in a star. My father’s, a deep red rage. My mother’s, a dark and passive hint. Mine? The type to arise suddenly and disappear just as quick. My anger is a voice that's a bad influence like a fake friend. My dad’s is a petty vengeance, like a kid not having his way. My mother’s is voiced by a bitter old woman, a classic of mothers. My anger flows through me like a river flows through a canyon. It eats at me til the balloon pops and my passion flares. My dad’s similar but slow, yet sometimes faster, is like a needle to a balloon, yet the anger never re-bottles. My mother,s is a puma in waiting, waiting for the time to strike. Our angers are a trifecta, three poles to one, completing the family.