Yes, the circle is now broken! (Dear Dad...)

"I know that I’m a prisoner
To all my father held so dear,
I know that I’m a hostage
To all his hopes and fears . . .*"


Dear Dad,

Not long ago, I witnessed an event that broke my heart.

It happened as I was walking through a local department store on my way home from work. I saw a parent abusing his child in public.

It’s something I’ve unfortunately witnessed before, and it saddens me every time I see it. In this particular instance, I actually heard the sounds of child abuse before I saw anything. In the next aisle over from where I was shopping, there came the harsh growl of a male voice, followed by a loud smack, and then the unmistakable "yowl" of a small child in pain.

I hesitated for a few moments, not wanting to intervene. But when the sounds of this small child’s public humiliation continued unabated after a few minutes, I decided I had had enough; I walked over to the next aisle. There I saw a slight man (who I assume was the child’s father) in his mid- to late twenties, with his back turned toward me, shaking his daughter hard enough to jerk her head back and forth violently. All the while he was cursing her and berating her in harsh, guttural tones. The little blonde girl, who was probably no more than three years old, was wailing inconsolably. "Hey," I said to him barely above a whisper, but with a tone that indicated I meant business. "Stop shaking her!"

The man stood up and turned around to face me. His face was a mask of hostility. To me, he seemed to possess an arrogance far bigger than his diminutive stature and slight build. He opened his mouth as if to snarl something at me, but stopped. I can only surmise that, seeing my 6’3", 240-pound frame dressed in full postal worker's regalia, he must have figured discretion was the better part of valor. He harrumphed, turned on his heels, snatched his still sobbing daughter by the wrist, and stalked off.

Do you know why that incident saddened me so much, Dad? Because it so much reminded me of you and the way you treated your family when we were growing up. I remember how physically and verbally abusive you were to everyone, especially Mom and me. To this day, my earliest memories are of you constantly beating me, screaming obscenities at me and telling me I was no good. The year when I was nine years old was probably the worst of my life. We were living in the suburbs outside New York City, and every day you were commuting to the city to work. (I recall you saying how unhappy you were in your work, even though you had a good-paying white collar job with a pharmaceutical company.)

Well, I guess you had to take all your unhappiness out on us, eh? In the spring of 1961, it seemed like whenever you were at home, you spent all your time pounding on Mom and me. The incident I remember most vividly happened on a Saturday morning in the spring of 1961. As hard as you try to deny it, I’m sure you must recall the place, the time, and the incident. I still remember the sinking feeling in my stomach when you hollered for me to come into your bedroom. That’s where most of those beatings took place.

This time I was barely through the door when you picked me up and flung me across the room and onto the bed. You started out by pummeling me with your fists, and then continued on by lashing me repeatedly with your wide leather belt. You were incoherently screaming and cursing at me. Mom tried to stop you (for one of the few times she dared), but you pushed her away and kept on. It seemed to go on forever. Later, Mom and I counted on my body 103 welts from the leather belt , as well as an indeterminable number of bruises. I never did find out what I had done wrong!

Dad, you know as well as I do that this was not an unusual event in our family. How many other times was I beaten almost senseless? Your verbal abuse may have been worse than the physical stuff you meted out. I remember one month when you refused to call me by my name; it would always be "hey, s__t head," or "you little s__t" – in that instance, all because I disobeyed you one evening when you were out, by asking the baby sitter for help with a math problem.

Yeah, Dad, that’s quite a legacy you left me. Not only me, though, but your other three children as well. It’s been almost forty years now since our little family split up. Mom has passed away now; you never did apologize to her or attempt reconciliation. Somehow, though, you’ve managed to reach a level of rapprochement with the four of us, your children. I wonder if you know how much of a struggle we are all still going through because of your violent behavior?

I have always heard – and believed – that abused children tend to become child abusers themselves, thereby perpetuating a vicious and painful circle of violence that can only be broken by extraordinary means. When I was a young adult, just starting a family of my own, I lived in mortal fear of turning out to be an abusive parent myself. Maybe that fear is ironically what stopped me from abusing my three children; even then, though, it was a terribly close call. As I look back on my children’s early years, I can see with great clarity the times when I almost crossed the line from strict disciplinarian to child abuser. Today, the only reason I’m sure I never did cross that line is because my wife and children constantly tell me so...with their love and respect.

So, I guess I just want to let you know, Dad . . . I am alright. All those bruises you left me with – the physical, psychological, and spiritual ones – are all faded away and healed. From the depth of my heart, I’ve managed to forgive you for the pain you caused me and our whole family. That despite the fact you’ve never once admitted you were wrong, or apologized.

So, Dad, that vicious circle is now broken! Today I live my life without excuses. I understand that my failures are of my own doing, and not yours. I’ve taken full responsibility for my life and for the care and nurturing of those entrusted to me. I don’t try to hide behind the label of "victim," because "victim" is one thing I am not. I live with the knowledge that the past is past, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. I can – and do – learn from the past, though. Perhaps it will be a comfort for you to know that your greatest legacy to me, and the greatest lesson you’ve ever taught me, is how not to be a parent.

And for that, you have my eternal gratitude.

Love,

Mike

"So don't yield to the fortunes
You sometimes see as fate.
It may have a new perspective
On a different day.
And if you don't give up,
And don't give in,
You may just be OK.

"Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear.
It’s too late when we die
To admit we don’t see eye to eye. *"




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* NOTE: Lyrics from the Mike and the Mechanics song "The Living Years." Words and music by Mike Rutherford and B.A. Robertson. Copyright © 1988, R & BA Music, Ltd./Hit and Run Music Ltd., (BMI) and Atlantic Records. Used with permission. All Rights Reserved.