My Bruised Hero

Dad was my hero. He was tall and extremely handsome.

He survived a childhood of abusive parents. He suffered from anti-Semitism. He worked hade as a teenage to finance his high school studies and to learn how to play the clarinet. He is a man of wide horizons, a man who has built himself with his own hands. Of course I didn't know all that as a child. I only knew he is struggling with horrifying demons. He was warm and loving at times, he was all rage and scary at other times. My mood swung according to his pendulum oscillations. When he was calm, I was calm, and when he was angry, I shrank to nothing. To this day, I thank him for the tremendous energy he needed to mobilize in order not to hit us. In his rage, he would go out of the house, slamming the door, in order to avoid the danger and the possibility that he would not control his anger. I love you dad.