This breaks my heart. My guess? Of all the brothers, you are likely the one who is most like your dad. It usually works that way. That poor bastard did love you. He just never had your compassion, intelligence, and sensitivity.
My mother and I had a contentious relationship. I mostly avoided her. As a mother myself, I feel terribly sorry for parents whose coldness, judgment, and personal bullshit get in the way of a relationship with their kids.
You may have a future as a psychologist, m'dear. I, of course, lacked the perspective to realize the point you make, but you're spot on. We were like two bulls circling one another. He, the older, more experienced bull, had the clear advantage. I, the younger, more impetuous bull, wanted to stake my claim. I was too young and naïve to understand the way of the world.
I spent my senior year in high school mostly avoiding my father, once going a full three weeks without seeing him, even though we lived under the same roof. They were the best three weeks of my childhood.
It could've been worse, I suppose. I grew up to (eventually) become a reasonably well-adjusted adult. It took two failed marriages, more counselors than I can recall, and a raft load of medications to get me on track, but I'm a monument to better living through chemistry...and finally getting my shit together.
I often wonder what kind of father I would've been, but I don't think the world's any worse off for not having my offspring running around.
Thanks, Phil. Writing about my father is never easy, but it does bring me some peace. I've also talked to my brothers enough over the past few years to gain some perspective. I understand Dad more now...and myself. That helps.
Multi-generational trauma and Complex PTSD go hand-in-glove. I am sorry for your painful experiences, and for those your dad must have had in his younger days. A lot of us (with hard-scrabble poor parents who were beaten into submission as kids) grow up not sure how to feel, other than fear and rage. Those parents may never have had a hug that was sincere, or a conversation that expressed anguish or self-doubt. It wasn’t safe for them to do so. I’m in that cohort, and clawing my way out to shake off some of the unnatural behaviors and expectations.
This breaks my heart. My guess? Of all the brothers, you are likely the one who is most like your dad. It usually works that way. That poor bastard did love you. He just never had your compassion, intelligence, and sensitivity.
My mother and I had a contentious relationship. I mostly avoided her. As a mother myself, I feel terribly sorry for parents whose coldness, judgment, and personal bullshit get in the way of a relationship with their kids.
You may have a future as a psychologist, m'dear. I, of course, lacked the perspective to realize the point you make, but you're spot on. We were like two bulls circling one another. He, the older, more experienced bull, had the clear advantage. I, the younger, more impetuous bull, wanted to stake my claim. I was too young and naïve to understand the way of the world.
I spent my senior year in high school mostly avoiding my father, once going a full three weeks without seeing him, even though we lived under the same roof. They were the best three weeks of my childhood.
It could've been worse, I suppose. I grew up to (eventually) become a reasonably well-adjusted adult. It took two failed marriages, more counselors than I can recall, and a raft load of medications to get me on track, but I'm a monument to better living through chemistry...and finally getting my shit together.
I often wonder what kind of father I would've been, but I don't think the world's any worse off for not having my offspring running around.
As a eulogy, this demands respect. Writing about oneself like this can be cathartic; but is sure to be painful.
Jack, may the rest of your day be restful, and re-creative.
Thanks, Phil. Writing about my father is never easy, but it does bring me some peace. I've also talked to my brothers enough over the past few years to gain some perspective. I understand Dad more now...and myself. That helps.
Multi-generational trauma and Complex PTSD go hand-in-glove. I am sorry for your painful experiences, and for those your dad must have had in his younger days. A lot of us (with hard-scrabble poor parents who were beaten into submission as kids) grow up not sure how to feel, other than fear and rage. Those parents may never have had a hug that was sincere, or a conversation that expressed anguish or self-doubt. It wasn’t safe for them to do so. I’m in that cohort, and clawing my way out to shake off some of the unnatural behaviors and expectations.