All I want for my 60th birthday is for you to give this your time and attention, and to let me know you’ve read it. I don't need a discussion. One of the burdens of being gifted with psychological insight is that I understand context. I understand how life shapes people, and that “hurt people hurt people.” I have spent decades of my life doing this regarding my parents, particularly Dad. I have used this compassion for him against myself; it has been a tool I use to disregard the actual damage he inflicted on me. I’ve told myself: he came from poverty, abuse, Catholicism, death of his father at 14, is probably autistic, has anxiety disorder. He provided a roof, food, clothing, financial support. He did not physically beat me regularly; he did not sexually abuse me. He “did the best he could.”
But in reality, I grew up without a sense of self, feeling worthless, scared, defensive, withdrawn, needing external validation to justify my existence. And while Mom contributed (especially by using me as her therapist to cope with the marriage), the bulk of responsibility falls on Dad’s shoulders. He did not see or treat me as a person for the first three decades of my life. He once made a comment at a family gathering (in 2006?) that we were probably terrified of him as kids. That oblique reference stuck with me, and I realized it was the closest he would ever come of admitting the damage he had done to us. And yes, once I got my master’s degree and met A, then married and had a kid, his regard shifted toward more respect and some admiration for my creative talents (writing and art) and intelligence. By then it was too late for me to care. The damage he wrought outweighed it. These are some of my most potent memories of him in relationship with me.
Physical
One time while camping, we were packing up very early to leave, around 7 a.m. I was probably in middle school. I happened to shut the car door too hard, and he reacted by grabbing me and snarling not to do that.
When I was really little, I remember him holding me while we were on a big boat, like a ferry, and him pretending that he was going to let me fall; it terrified me.
I remember him whipping my legs with a belt when I was around 9 or 10. It was summertime. I’d been mean to Tony and pushed him. Then I had to go to swim lessons with my obviously whipped legs.
At 26, home on spring break from college, a conversation about school and money escalated, and I tried to pause it. I suggested we talk when we were calmer and tried to leave the room. He became enraged and came at me to prevent me from walking away from him. T actually had to intervene to keep him from my physically.
There was zero physical affection from him; no security or safety.
Emotional
As an under-10 child, I felt that his default toward me was disapproval and dislike; as a teen I thought he was angry at me and that he hated me.
His method of punishment in adolescence was to ground me indefinitely (no seeing friends, no phone use, no going anywhere other than school and church); not knowing when this would end was torment.
When he was angry at me, he would scream, “You are not my daughter!”
In high school when angry with me, he would threaten to send me away to a boarding school.
He was angry and punitive regarding math struggles in elementary school; I felt stupid.
I had a boy penpal from another country in high school. Once, I got a letter and wrote back and asked Dad for a stamp. He raged at me for asking, because he thought I hadn’t waited long enough after receiving the letter. I was showing I was “too eager.”
Numerous times in high school and my 20s, in anger he said I was a loser and I would never finish anything.
His general demeanor and emotional transmission was terrifying; just existing in the house felt dangerous.
In high school, he’d rage at Mom late at night. I could hear it from my bed. I remember once standing at the top of the stairs, screaming “Stop it! Stop iiiitt!” He came to the bottom of the stairs and told me to mind my business.
When I moved back in at 25 to pay off debt, he sat me down and told me I was a “guest” and not to interfere with T’s last year of high school. Any infractions would result in me getting kicked out.
As a child/teen, any time I mentioned a career I might like, he negated it mostly using reasons having to do with my personality (except teaching, which he said there was a glut of teachers); I couldn’t be a journalist because I wasn’t “competitive enough.” I couldn’t be a counselor because I was “too sensitive.”
His psychological power over me continued into my mid-20s. I remember when I wrote a letter to him explaining that I decided I was going to study psychology, despite it not having financial potential, for the sake of my interest in it. I had been living independently and paying my own way for years, yet I still felt I had to make a case to him.
At 19, I was working full-time for a dentist who went on eight weeks vacation in the winter without paying me. Without income I wasn’t going to be able to pay rent. I was so scared and depressed with my life. Having hardly any money, I shoplifted Nytol, because I was going to commit suicide. I happened to get arrested. I was too scared to tell Dad because I was certain he would kick me out of the house. He ended up not doing so, but the point is that his abuse of me had led me to assume this.
No care was expressed toward my emotional state that led me to feeling suicidal.
He forbade me going to therapy as long as I lived under his roof, which I ignored. But I had to keep it secret.
He ordered me to go to church as long as I lived under his roof, which I finally rebelled against at 20 and told him I’d just lie and say I did.
Neglect
I felt invisible to him; he expressed no interest in what I thought, wanted, or needed, and elicited no conversations. He was utterly incurious about me.
After T was born, I held even less importance, because the SON, especially a genius son, had been given to him. (I do not fault T in any way for this; he didn’t choose it.)
He refused to give me rides for extracurricular activities. I remember he got so angry once when an introductory Junior Achievement session let out later than expected. He raged as if it was my fault. So, I just stopped joining anything after 9th grade.
He basically ignored me as an adolescent; there were days and weeks he did not speak to me.
In elementary school I desperately wanted to join school band and play flute; he would not let me join. It was out of the question to even discuss.
I taught myself to ride a bike on my best friend’s bike at age 5. I desperately wanted a bike, but he said “No bike until 5th grade.” I felt so babyish and stupid using the tricycle. Mom snuck behind him and got me a used bike in 4th grade, which somehow I was allowed to keep.
I was nothing to him. I was his burden, something to provide for and get married off and out of the house. That message came through clearly in the atmosphere of the household.
I was nearly 30 when I finally realized I am really, really intelligent; his utter disregard for me all those years kept me from really seeing this.
Financial
In my junior year of high school I worked at the state fair demonstration kitchen with my friend S. I earned $200 for two weeks. S got to use her earnings as she wanted. Dad made me put all but $20 in the bank.
He would not allow me to buy my own stereo or boombox while I lived at home, even at age 18, 19, 20, when I was paying rent to live there.
I paid rent and bought my own groceries after age 18 while living at the house.
I dearly wanted a 10-speed bike for all of high school. I researched them and saved money. I tried to present this to him, and he exploded. The subject was closed; he would not even hear me out.
He refused to fill out the FAFSA form which is required for applying for student loans.
After a year at OCC trying to study a major he deemed acceptable, I decided to take a break and look for work. I told him I didn’t want to waste his money. But only two weeks after I told him, I had not gotten a job yet. He screamed me that I was “screwing” him.
He used my sisters’ mistakes against me: L left college after one year, so he decreed that I would not be allowed to go away to college. E borrowed his money to buy her car, and apparently stopped paying on the loan at some point. In response he forbade me to even get a driver’s license while I live under his roof. I was 20 when I moved out, and 21 when I got a license.
When I wanted to go full-time to college in my later 20s, I couldn’t get enough financial aid. He offered to loan me $8000, with the following conditions: I was to pay it in full within five years of the loan issue; I could not get a car, take a vacation, get married, or have a child during that period; I would work all of my breaks at a temp job. It was demeaning, and I felt horrible about accepting the terms. I talked with Mom, and she replied that if I really wanted to get the degree, I would have to. So I did, with misgiving.
When I later proposed to take summer classes so I could graduate sooner and start repayment (I was so worried about how I would repay it), he became enraged that I was trying to change the contract. (That’s when he came at me and T intervened.) That’s the moment I woke up and said “no more,” and decided my self-respect was worth more than the degree, and left.
The day after the incident, I met Mom for coffee. She handed a memo to me from him, which told me I “bit the hand” that fed me, because he had intended to forgive the loan upon completion. And that I was to return the house key, not initiate any contact with him, to wait until he decided to engage with me. Oh, and the money he’d “loaned” me at that point ($3000) would be forgiven provided I showed him passing grades for the year.
After being arrested, he told me he would not be engaging a lawyer for guidance. (I did not end up needing one, but I was extremely scared of what would happen.)
After re-reading all this, I’m astounded that I kept any contact with him at all over the years. Any non-family member reading this would be as well. His sperm provided half my DNA and gave me the opportunity to be embodied. He provided the basics and the occasional kind gesture, such as building me a bookcase or typing table. He did the bare minimum a parent is supposed to do for a child. But in all aspects of being a FATHER, I give him a FAILING grade. He treated me as his possession. He wielded power over me not recklessly, but with cruelty. He used his energy in an effort to kill my spirit. And he nearly succeeded.
And so on this father’s day in 2023, I lay him to rest. He is dead to me. I am done.