Start at the Beginning. It feels better

I couldn’t look at my father during dinner that night. He had used my mom’s makeup to create relatively normal-looking eyebrows, but that wasn’t why. I had stolen from him again, this time old chicken feed from out in the garage. I tried to keep my mind in check, but it kept wandering in all directions.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” my mother said to him. She was chewing on a piece of steak. They had decided that they’d had enough chicken for one day.
“Are you kidding? This is bad,” he said. He was probably pointing at his eyebrows.
“Yeah, well at least you didn’t burn your skin. I saw some bad cases when I was volunteering at the hospital last year. That never heals.”
“Seriously, that’s the last time I try that. Sorry, honey, but deep-frying it was a bad suggestion,” my father said to my mother.
“I guess you’re right,” she paused. “Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I finished my steak, washed my dishes, and went into my room. All through dinner I’d been thinking about how to resolve the issue of the chick. It had to be dealt with, I knew, and I had come up with an idea. I had planned to invite my father into my room after he finished dinner. If he wanted to take the chick away from me, I would let him have it. I would give it to him. If he thought it belonged to me, then it would stay in its box. I thought that this was what the message I had written was trying to tell me. It shall be resolved.