“I’m really angry at my dad,” the teenage girl said to me with a scowl. I looked at her, and she turned to face me for a second. Her eyes squinted against the sunlight pushing through the trees arrayed with only their spring foliage. Wisps of hair moved across her face every time the wind blew. “I get so angry sometimes I just want to scream or hit something. Actually, I do hit things.” I felt so sad. I prayed silently.