Balancing Bad Dad with Good Dad
I recently remembered an incident of my Dad reacting to my mother cutting her leg while shaving. It was a rather ugly looking cut with a lot of blood running down her shin. It was nothing more than an incidental moment in my past but a rather troubling memory.
He swore vociferously and loudly. He berated my mother with names like "Idiot" and "Stupid," and then proceeded to shout at her; how she should have shaved her legs more carefully, or maybe, she shouldn't be so vain as to think any one cared about her legs. And, so on. He made a circle through the house while yelling at her; pacing down the hall, turning into the living room, and completing the circuit by stomping through the dining room and kitchen.
He demanded she not leave blood all over the place because she was not the only one who used the bathroom. Anger and embarrassment were etched on her expression as she stood in the door of the bathroom with a pencil width of liquid red running down her leg, separating in little rivulets below her ankle and pooling around the sole of her foot. As Dad complained about her ruining a good wash cloth, she began to staunch the flow by pressing the cool, wet cloth to the wound.
I don't remember what she said as she screamed and defended herself. Dad's complaint disintegrated into cussing and muttering. He soon left to go get some beer. He became scared and weak at the sight of blood. Before the door slammed shut he demanded she have the mess cleaned up before he returned.
Mom didn't cry. She just bandaged her wound after she got the bleeding slowed down. Then she cleaned up the mess in the bath tub and on the floor. Neither of them seemed to know I was standing there, slacked-jawed as I observed this drama. I may as well have been invisible.
In many ways Dad was a real piece of work. I don’t really think he acted that way outside the home. More than likely, he was just imitating what he learned in his childhood home. Just before they reached their thirtieth year of marriage Mom divorced Dad. Of all the things that ever happened to Dad this one thing did the most to motivate him to change his life.
He got sober. He attended Alcoholics Anonymous faithfully for a little over a year. That one year was all he felt he needed. He was never inebriated again. He developed his spiritual side and attended church with an old friend for a couple of years until he felt he had that down. He read a daily devotional and had a private practice of prayer. He became content that he had become a pretty good man. The only demons that seemed to bother him were his regrets. But, who doesn’t have regrets?
My brother recently told me a story about Dad that indicated he had not entirely eradicated his old behavior pattern. He and his second wife used to travel with his sister and her husband, each couple to their own modern, comfortable RV. Once, just outside of Las Vegas, Dad and my step-mother got into an argument. Dad ended the argument by kicking his wife out of the RV. She showed up at her sister-in-law’s camp site in her night clothes with her suitcase in hand. It took several days of his sister’s cajoling and his wife’s promises before he fitted her back into his itinerary. Dad may have been what the AA community calls a “dry drunk.” Not drinking, but still acting like an addict.
I have begun to deal with my bad memories of Dad by balancing them with good memories. Dad could be very social, practical and helpful. He had friends that stretched back to his school days. I could talk to him about things that I’d never bring up to most people. I once made a joke about my burning, itching anus which was irritated by fairly regular bouts of diarrhea. He laughed with me but then said, “You know, that’s not really funny. That will make you miserable.”
He got serious and gave me some diet and hygiene advice that has given me years of comfort from my complaint. He could be wise and kind.
So, whenever I remember the “bad Dad” I take a few breaths and balance it out with better memories. None of us are just bad. We are all a mixture of light and dark. A good friend once told me, “Even the greatest of men cast a dark shadow.”
Louis Templeman
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