Not all fathers deserve a day

My dad died on March 27, 2021. He was 94.

When I think about my dad, I think about the complexity of being a father, a role model, a protector.

And then I think about my dad.

He provided for his family but he was hardly a role model; in fact, my early childhood is mostly filled with memories of my dad being absent, escaping on the weekends to do whatever he did away from us, devoid of the ability to express his feelings except for anger.

My dad was an expert at anger.

When he exploded (and lord knows, he exploded often), he would pull one of us — me or my brother — into his bedroom, lock the door, take off his belt, and beat us. Sometimes, he would take my brother somewhere in the car and leave him on the side of the road with a dollar or two and instruct him to find a bus. Other times, he’d throw things. Once he pulled the phone off the wall and threw it into the backyard. I guess that we did not have a phone for a few days after that; I don’t remember.

My brother and I don’t remember a lot of our childhood. We were always on edge, waiting for the next explosion.

Role models. Role models are supposed to show us a path that we can follow, a path that allows us to grow into fully functioning adults. My brother and I both function, but at…