So, I think I've made it pretty clear that my father isn't the most balanced, rational person. Part of that is down to unfortunate genetics; he never had a chance at being completely normal.
But he could've been better; not normal, but less messed up if it hadn't been for his own childhood.
He was abused, far more than he ever did to us (not that I'm excusing him.) His father was a coal miner that made his family's life a living hell until he died from black lung. His mother wasn't much better; she just couldn't hit as hard.
I won't go into the details about how many times he saw his sisters thrown against the wall, or how many times he had to cover the bruises, how many times he had to sneak food because they refused to feed him.
His sister tried to poison his father, and none of her siblings objected.
That pretty much sums up how much they hated him.
Around forty years later, my brothers and I wished my dad would get into a car accident on the way home.
We tried to convince my mom to just pick up and leave, even though we had nowhere to turn.
I've read about the cycle of violence; I've seen it in action.
The pain of being abused pales in comparison to the pain of knowing that your father became what he hated and doesn't even see it.
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