#9 My Dad

20180422_135330_Film1My dad was born in 1943, I believe, into a highly dysfunctional family himself.  There was violence against  his mother by his dad, for sure, and I believe there was also physical abuse against my dad and his two brothers.  The brothers were all close in age, just a few years apart from each other, but many years later a daughter was also born to my grandparents.  As far as I know, she was doted upon and did not suffer the same fate as my dad and his brothers.  I have been told that my grandfather was a raging alcoholic, that he would beat my grandmother, throw the family out of the house and lock all the doors, even in the dead of winter.  I was also told that as punishment he would dress the boys in dresses and tie them to the tree in the front yard.  I can’t even imagine this, but what I find worse was what I probably was NOT told.  

I know by the time my dad had his own family he did the best he could for as long as he could, but I feel he had a lot of built up anger inside of him due to HIS childhood and this kind of rage, if not dealt with appropriately, is bound to be expressed or released someway.

I know I loved my dad and even looked up to him up until probably my early teens when things got progressively worse.  One time, right before Father’s Day, my school had one of those school sales where they turn the cafeteria into a store and you could buy things for your dad for Father’s Day: I was probably about nine or ten years of age.  I remember I bought him a plastic statue of a man that says, “World’s Best Father.”  He kept that plastic treasure his Whole LIFE.  No matter where he went, he had it up until the day he died.  I now have it and it is actually going to be the picture for this blog!





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