The Old Man: An Introduction
February 20, 2006 | permalink
I have a lot to say about my father. More than I could ever get out in one post. In truth, I could probably write in this forum for years about nothing else; but rather than subject you, Gentle Readers, to that, I will start a new recurring thread and string it out. Probably forever. It's a long, complicated story, but I will do my best to make it as clear as I can.
Before I start, there is something I want to clarify: I've been thinking about pursuing this topic here for quite a while. Some of it is going to be decidedly unpleasant, and I do not undertake this lightly. The Old Man has had, and continues to have, a huge impact on my life (beyond the obvious, I mean). The impact of the way he raised my siblings and I, of the way his personality and worldview was imprinted on us, is something I still struggle with. Despite having some resentment and bitterness towards him, I love The Old Man deeply, and have immense respect for his intellect and strength of will. As I write, that might not always be clear, so I want to say it right at the beginning.
In order for you to understand where I'm coming from, I think you need to understand where The Old Man came from. He was born in 1949, the son of a WWII veteran and a secretary. He has an older brother and an older sister. All normalcy ends there.
To call my grandfather abusive would be like calling the Olympics a track meet. The Old Man was derided and beaten for showing any kind of spark of creativity or independence. He was fed on the floor like an animal. He was the scapegoat for anything his siblings did, and often punished in their stead (not that you should believe that they escaped unscathed- far from it). He was tortured for the most minor offenses- fingers broken for drawing on the wall, choked to unconciousness for waking Grandfather from a nap. He was brutally raped, sometimes by his father, somtimes by his father's friends. (His Mother did nothing, by the way.) This happened from as early as The Old Man can remember until he realized that he had become bigger and stronger than his father. The Old Man hit back, once, and Grandfather realized that the gig was up, and never touched him again. Though I have no doubt that the emotional abuse continued until he left home when he was sixteen.
You might wonder, Gentle Readers, what effect such an upbringing might have on a person. The Old Man, not surprisingly, learned to be paranoid, anti-social, and was filled with self-loathing. In addition, and overshadowing the rest, he fractured, and developed Multiple Personality Disorder as a method of coping with the horrific abuse.
As I'm sure you know, abuse begets abuse. My Grandfather was no doubt ill treated by his father, and so on. The Old Man broke this cycle. Whatever problems I have with him, whatever resentment I harbor for being brought up within his skewed, paranoid world-view, he never beat us. The more I learn about myself, and the far-reaching way the past affects my present life, the more in awe I am of his incredible intellect and force of will. The man is a super-genius, scoring way off the charts... I often wonder what he might have become if he were raised by less sadistic people.
I think that's enough to digest for now, Gentle Readers. It's certainly enough for me. For now. There will be more.
Posted in Family Matters & Growing Up & The Old Man & The PastEbay Prizes was the last entry.
Or, As My Sister Says, The Earth Rejects Us is the next entry.
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