This weekend we honor that who have served their country in the armed forces.
My Father was a vet. He fought in World War 2 and he was shot in Europe. He received the Purple Heart.
My Father wasn't a very nice man. He was emotionally cruel to his family and he certainly didn't know what to make of me. I was obsessed with science fiction and monster movies. I had no interest in watching sports, nor in participating in organized sports of any kind. I played some backyard games, but I certainly wasn't going to have some coach bawl me out on the regular.
I was very young when I heard him talking about me. I was outside, messing around in the dirt right by a window. He was going on about what a wimp I was.
My Father insulted me daily and he seemed to derive pleasure from humiliating me. He called me names. He would casually refer to me, constantly, as the "dumb little kid".
Not exactly a nurturing environment. I spent much of my youth hiding from him, and just about everything else.
It had long-reaching effects upon my personality. I spent a lot of time and energy hating him.
Years passed and I tried to put a lot of it behind me. My family is not close, for obvious reasons.
2012 has been a hard year for me. I've done a lot of soul searching and I've been faced with enormous mental challenges. Some of which stem from the death of my Father, which happened in January.
I've been thinking about it a lot, and I believe that I have gotten over much of the anger. Not all, and I may not ever achieve that, but I can try to keep things in perspective. We always had clean clothes. Maybe not name brands, but decent things to wear. We always had hot meals. Our needs we met. Our physical needs, anyway. Plenty of people had it worse.
Then I think about what Dad must have went through. I'm no historian, but I know that much of Europe, in World War 2, was a meat grinder. Most of us cannot even begin to comprehend what he and so many others went through. For that we should be very grateful.
These guys brought back an unimaginable burden. It was a different time, too. Very few had any sort of therapy. That was unthinkable. They didn't, in most cases, open up to their wives. That would have been unmanly.
A lot of these guys kept the horror and the atrocities they saw to themselves, and it festered. Blackened their souls. And, all too often, it erupted in the forms of alcoholism, rage, and violence.
Does that make it right? The way he treated his wife and his children? No, I don't think so. However, with understanding comes forgiveness. And with forgiveness comes inner peace.
This is the weekend we give honor and respect to those who gave their guts and souls to the defense of the United States. We shouldn't only do it this weekend, but all the time.
My Father was a vet. He fought in World War 2 and he was shot in Europe. He received the Purple Heart.
My Father wasn't a very nice man. He was emotionally cruel to his family and he certainly didn't know what to make of me. I was obsessed with science fiction and monster movies. I had no interest in watching sports, nor in participating in organized sports of any kind. I played some backyard games, but I certainly wasn't going to have some coach bawl me out on the regular.
I was very young when I heard him talking about me. I was outside, messing around in the dirt right by a window. He was going on about what a wimp I was.
My Father insulted me daily and he seemed to derive pleasure from humiliating me. He called me names. He would casually refer to me, constantly, as the "dumb little kid".
Not exactly a nurturing environment. I spent much of my youth hiding from him, and just about everything else.
It had long-reaching effects upon my personality. I spent a lot of time and energy hating him.
Years passed and I tried to put a lot of it behind me. My family is not close, for obvious reasons.
2012 has been a hard year for me. I've done a lot of soul searching and I've been faced with enormous mental challenges. Some of which stem from the death of my Father, which happened in January.
I've been thinking about it a lot, and I believe that I have gotten over much of the anger. Not all, and I may not ever achieve that, but I can try to keep things in perspective. We always had clean clothes. Maybe not name brands, but decent things to wear. We always had hot meals. Our needs we met. Our physical needs, anyway. Plenty of people had it worse.
Then I think about what Dad must have went through. I'm no historian, but I know that much of Europe, in World War 2, was a meat grinder. Most of us cannot even begin to comprehend what he and so many others went through. For that we should be very grateful.
These guys brought back an unimaginable burden. It was a different time, too. Very few had any sort of therapy. That was unthinkable. They didn't, in most cases, open up to their wives. That would have been unmanly.
A lot of these guys kept the horror and the atrocities they saw to themselves, and it festered. Blackened their souls. And, all too often, it erupted in the forms of alcoholism, rage, and violence.
Does that make it right? The way he treated his wife and his children? No, I don't think so. However, with understanding comes forgiveness. And with forgiveness comes inner peace.
This is the weekend we give honor and respect to those who gave their guts and souls to the defense of the United States. We shouldn't only do it this weekend, but all the time.
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