re: Fathers and rage - memories

My dad was a drunk and a bully. One night I hear him vomiting in the bathroom. I was around 6 or so. I walk in the bathroom and made the fatal mistake of asking if he was ok. He put me face first through a mirror. One trip to the er and 9 stitches later I had learned my lesson. New Year’s Eve 1980. I was 5. He and some padna’s were outside popping fireworks. I begged my mom to let me go watch and she finally gave in. Eventually my dad and my godfather, a new Iberia policeman by the way, had chased me under the family station wagon with Roman candles. Ahhh, the good times. SOB had a belt buckle with an English pointer on it and he was not afraid to use it. In 2nd grade we learned alcohol was bad so when I got home I emptied all his Taaka vodka into the sink. He put in some serious work with that English pointer belt buckle that night.

But, alas, he may not have taught me what to do to be a good dad, but he did teach me what not to do.