Posted on January 9, 2017 in Abuse Adolescence Childhood PTSD Relationships Writing Exercises
lost his temper and then worried that I sometimes exploded in return. It was uneven. He wanted to be honored as a father — he quoted the commandment incessantly as if he were a river in flood. Not for a moment did he consider the example he set by his violence towards his children or the arguments he had with his wife. The war had warped him, perhaps — he was one of only three survivors of his company of one hundred men to survive the [[Battle of San Pietro]] — but there was a template he followed laid out, I was told, by his father. My heritage is filled with mysteries — why in a family filled with nice gentlemen was my grandfather so mean? My father was the defender of his brother and sister: he knew to blunt the sword of abuse, so why was he so cruel to us?
Whenever I speak of the terrors of my childhood, my mother used to lay the entire blame on him. This was not fair. She contributed as much if not more. He also had his moments of kindness.
There are things that I wish to say that I am not ready to share. If I can get them down in a journal, I will be sure to post them here.
A movie by John Huston about the Battle of San Pietro.