That one was my biggest fear, as it usually meant a serious lashing with a belt. The severity depended on the quantity of beer he had consumed, and which football team was winning or losing. I never figured out which team was his favorite, but I knew that he sure hated the Raiders and I stayed away from home when they were on TV unless they were losing badly.
My father used the terms "a long haired commie pinko fag." If my hair got longer than 1 inch he took the scissors to my head which made me look really stupid.
Him at his worst, " You are the biggest mistake I ever made."
At age 20 I couldn't take it any longer, secretly got a job at the Motorola plant about 35 miles north of my house, stuffed my 1949 Plymouth with everything I could fit into it, and left while he was at work. He trashed everything I had left behind. There was over a year of no communication between myself and my family. Somehow one of my brothers found me, negotiated a peace treaty and I was invited to a Thanksgiving dinner. The treaty was broken before dinner was served and I wound up eating at McDonalds on the way back to my apartment. Another year went by and we were slowly able to communicate, barely, and be in the same room without verbal outbursts. I think cutting about a foot off of my hair might have helped the situation. I would never admit that the haircut was prompted when I was poking around under the hood of my car and the fanbelt caught my hair and slapped my head against the fan shroud.
The final and lasting peace treaty came when my mother called me and asked to borrow $5000 on very short notice, and to his surprise I had it and loaned it to them. If a kid that left home two years ago with a high school education had that kind of money in his checking account and a better car than he ever had, I could not have been that bad of a mistake.
He always wanted me to go to college and become an electrical engineer. I became an engineer without a college degree, then got my degree at Motorola's expense without telling my parents. I was surprised when I sent them invitations to my graduation ceremony, and they declined. Never did find out why. I got a second degree, also at Motorola's expense but didn't bother to tell them.
I vowed NOT to be like this to my daughter. The usual punishment I dealt out was to sit in the corner facing the wall for a "timeout" period. If there was any lip or non compliance, I would simply take over her video game and start losing.
She got the nasty habit of running into her room and slamming the door. I said that if she did it again I would confiscate the door, which I eventually did. Her room was such a mess that she would not have her friends over until she cleaned it up. That only happened once. No more slammed doors, and she cleaned up her room, a double win!
Your story sounds a lot like mine. I left home about 2 weeks after I turned 17. I struggled financially for 4 of 5 yrs but never doubted I did the right thing and I never looked back. I did 11 yrs national military service as well (1 month then 3 months over 2 yrs repeated for 6 cycles) starting at 17 and a half.
I vowed never to treat my kids badly and they’ve both turned out well balanced and my family is close and we get on. Wife is pretty good as well I hve to say 😊
I forgave my parents. They were misguided and blinded by their beliefs.
I vowed never to treat my kids badly and they’ve both turned out well balanced and my family is close and we get on. Wife is pretty good as well I hve to say 😊
I forgave my parents. They were misguided and blinded by their beliefs.
Mom and Dad came over for easter and when my Dad walked into the family room, he looked my huge audio system and said with great angsts: "couldn't you just buy a Bose!!!"
I forgot to add the initial military basic training was 1 year 17 1/2 to 18 1/2. Best feeling in the world was getting on the train and heading back to civilian life after a year. Anyone who's been in that position will know it!
My father was a decorated war hero from WWII. Since we couldn't talk to each other, I never knew the details until after he passed. He did make it clear that none of his three boys would ever join the military. Part of his anger and alcohol addiction was due to what we now call PTSD. He was a bomber pilot who was shot down twice, once his parents were notified, "missing in action, presumed dead." He was found several months later on an island in the Pacific where nobody spoke English, returned to the states where he was put back in the cockpit and sent back to war. That's enough to screw up anybody mentally.
The after effects of the war resulted in several rules to avoid and incident. Basically there were no amplified sounds produced in the house when he was home. Fireworks were also a no-no, but it was perfectly OK to shoot a gun in to the lake in the backyard as long as he knew about it in advance, which was required since he kept all the guns.
The after effects of the war resulted in several rules to avoid and incident. Basically there were no amplified sounds produced in the house when he was home. Fireworks were also a no-no, but it was perfectly OK to shoot a gun in to the lake in the backyard as long as he knew about it in advance, which was required since he kept all the guns.
My father was overseas for almost 6 years in WWII. He was adamant that us boys would never serve in the military. He was very worried that I (the oldest son) would end up being drafted to serve as cannon fodder in Viet Nam. Although he was a deeply patriotic man, I believe he would have sent me to Canada to avoid the draft.
I ended up missing the draft by about a year or two I think. My younger brother on the other hand couldn't wait to join the Marines. He used to say all the time "I'm going to be a five star general a five star general a five star general a five star general" he'd say it 6000 times in a row. What a maroon! He wouldn't even make his bed. Some five star general. He didn't make it through a week of boot camp when they gave him a general discharge.
I ended up missing the draft by about a year or two I think. My younger brother on the other hand couldn't wait to join the Marines. He used to say all the time "I'm going to be a five star general a five star general a five star general a five star general" he'd say it 6000 times in a row. What a maroon! He wouldn't even make his bed. Some five star general. He didn't make it through a week of boot camp when they gave him a general discharge.
My dad signed up with the RAF in 1939. He worked for Siemens / The Railways, his boss said make your choice to sign up while you have a chance. He taught radio operators and ended up in the Gold Coast Africa, Canada and various parts of England during WW2. My mother at the time was engaged to a sailor in the Royal Navy who was killed at sea. I remember she telling the story of while she, her sisters and mum slept in the same bed during the Blitz and waking up one morning to her mum who had died in her sleep during he night.
Growing up in the 60's me and my sister basically did whatever we wanted, we went out in the morning and got onto all sort of adventures and came home when we wanted to. At school in the 70's there was no pressure to achieve anything, quite often I would be at home instead of at school, my mum would not worry about anything.
Our parents never worried or cared what we got up to. Looking back, I wonder if what they had been through gave them a better perspective in life..
Happy days🙂
Growing up in the 60's me and my sister basically did whatever we wanted, we went out in the morning and got onto all sort of adventures and came home when we wanted to. At school in the 70's there was no pressure to achieve anything, quite often I would be at home instead of at school, my mum would not worry about anything.
Our parents never worried or cared what we got up to. Looking back, I wonder if what they had been through gave them a better perspective in life..
Happy days🙂
My father was a cheapskate. I had draft lottery number 166 in 1971 which did turn out to be a draft eligible number, so he sent me to school instead. I maintained my 2S (student deferment) which delayed draftability until I completed my education. The 1972 draft awarded me draft number 339 out of 366 numbers, so I quit school, got a new draft card with a 2H (number's too high), packed up the car and drove 35 miles north for a job at Motorola which lasted 41 years.
I remember a phrase my mom used to describe me quite often to her friends. "He aint even got sense enough to get in out of the rain.....just like a turkey. Probably drown if he looks up at the sky." Hey, it was Miami in the summer and we did not have air conditioning. Rain did not keep me or about half of the other kids in the neighborhood from playing. We stayed wet most of the time anyway by jumping into the lake to cool off.
My father heavily promoted school as a way to avoid the draft. I wanted to go to college of course, for a couple of reasons. One of the big reasons was to get away from my father's heavy handed discipline. I wanted to get as far away as possible. He was adamant that I must attend a Catholic university (SO YUCKY) because he knew they'd continue the gaslighting that is so vital to experience when you're a good little Catholic. He virtually insisted that I attend Notre Dame so he could pop in on me and make sure I was on the straight and narrow. I wanted nothing of the sort. My first university was SIU-C, almost 400 miles from home.
There was no pretending that my brother was going to have any higher education. By the time he graduated high school he was out of control and a full blown thug. Within a year he was 100% psychotic and I mean Charles Manson psychotic. I resented the way my father coddled him (he belonged in a mental institution or prison) and the way he pushed me so hard to be what he wanted me to be. Now I sympathize with my father because I realize I was his only hope of having a respectable child.
There was no pretending that my brother was going to have any higher education. By the time he graduated high school he was out of control and a full blown thug. Within a year he was 100% psychotic and I mean Charles Manson psychotic. I resented the way my father coddled him (he belonged in a mental institution or prison) and the way he pushed me so hard to be what he wanted me to be. Now I sympathize with my father because I realize I was his only hope of having a respectable child.
Draft or no draft I’m not sure I would have survived boot camp. I had the Marine recuiters trying to talk me out of college, but I knew better by then. All the beatings and gym time in the world would never improve my physical performance beyond a certain level - and that was far less than what was expected of a typical Marine. Results other guys got in six weeks takes me a year, so I would have ended up like PFC William T. Santiago. The situation actually got a little better in my 40’s, but I could barely stay up with Cat3’s on their training rides, despite 400 miles a week (for years on end).
My stepdad had left LONG before I was shipping off to college - thrown out on his *** by Mom for stealing gas out of the neighbors’ cars. He wouldn’t have survived boot camp either, but for other reasons (Would have shot off his mouth to the wrong person).
My stepdad had left LONG before I was shipping off to college - thrown out on his *** by Mom for stealing gas out of the neighbors’ cars. He wouldn’t have survived boot camp either, but for other reasons (Would have shot off his mouth to the wrong person).
I did not want to join the military in 1976. There was no upside. They paid you $250 a month to be killed. If you were lucky enough to come home from Viet Nam people would spit on you at the airport. You got nothing- nada- zip for being in the military.
Now it's a totally different story. You can make a respectable career out of the military. You can get job training, free medical care, a college education, and prestige. You get preferential treatment when applying for a job. In 1976 it was like a stain on your record. Now it's a big plus.
Four or five boys on my block were drafted into the war. Only one came home alive, and he hung himself in the garage at age 26.
Now it's a totally different story. You can make a respectable career out of the military. You can get job training, free medical care, a college education, and prestige. You get preferential treatment when applying for a job. In 1976 it was like a stain on your record. Now it's a big plus.
Four or five boys on my block were drafted into the war. Only one came home alive, and he hung himself in the garage at age 26.
In my draftable years I might not have qualified or survived either since I was a really skinny kid at 6 foot tall, 120 Lbs. That changed later in life when Motorola put in a gym and made it free to employees.
From the mid 90's through the early 2000's on or near the 4thy of July holiday, a local Miami radio station known as Zeta 4 put on a free or cheap all day outdoor rock concert called Zetafest. I went to all of them. There was a particularly hot 5th of July Zetafest at a park near my house so I got there early. By mid afternoon I was really thirsty and the US Marines had a recruiting booth that was offering a "free water bottle with free cold water refills" to anyone who could do 10 pull-ups on their bar. I waited in the line for nearly a half hour, ripped off my 10 pull-upps, but had to listen to a hard sales pitch to join up in order to get my water. To each and every one of their statememts I replied that the Marines won't take me. After a few exchanges the guy stopped talking long enough to ask why. I replied that I was 45 years old. He gave me my water and I left. I got it refilled twice, by the same guy to avoid the pitch again.
https://www.concertarchives.org/concerts/zetafest-1998
I once worked for a company that made cash registers - Gross Cash Registers at the Hollingbury industrial estate in Brighton, long gone like so much of British industry. It went bust for very good reasons a few years later - it would make an hilarious tale to tell why. So I worked initially in the machine shop where the air was always blue with vaporized oil, reason, no air change system. There was a guy there who with his brother joined up at the beginning of WW11. His brother had always had an interest in radio construction and so was put into the RAF as a radio operator. Guess where he spent the whole war - the Seychelle islands. Great sea food, beautiful friendly women, never saw a shot fired in anger. His brother spent his war first in North Africa up against the excellent Africa Korps, then Italy. He was at Monte Casino (not a good place to be) and when his unit was asked if anyone wanted to volunteer (never volunteer) for a special mission to be dropped into the Netherlands to destroy a marshalling yard that the Germans had camouflaged so well that the RAF couldn't destroy it. When they had done their job they were to surrender. They did the job and then surrendered and spent the rest of the war, about a year in a POW camp. he said he had more chance of surviving the war being dropped in as a paratrooper than being at Monte Casino.
My music guru and later my guru proper was an amazing character - Welsh mother and Irish father, he swore his mother was a latter day Druid. He had an amazing life travelling all the way around 'the medecine wheel'. He was also a womaniser but in the best possible way. When the war started he was a sailor in the merchant marine. He jumped ship, a Canadian Pacific freighter in Cape Town, South Africa having a great time with both white and black women. he ran a Crown and Anchor rig making plenty of money but one night the police raided a bar he was in and he got put in the slammer with all his possessions which included a shoe box crammed full of Durban Poison, a very potent local marijauna. When the next C/P boat arrived in port he was put on it. It traveled from Cape Town to Buenos Aires, Argentina to pick up a cargo of beef for the UK. As it was leaving port he was painting a funnel when the ladder slipped and he badly smashed a knee. He was put ashore with the pilot and after excellent surgery in Buenos Aires he was sent for recuperation to a British beef ranch way out on the Pampas. It was there he spent 6 months, learning to ride out with the gouchos, drinking lots of Malbec wine, eating excellent huge steaks BUT staying well away from their women as the gouchos were won't to disembowell anyone messing with their women. He would make up neat 'stickies' ( Dutch for one paper neat joints) and ride, in his words until his a#se bled. Meanwhile it was all blood and guts back home. 6 months in the beautiful Pampas, eating,drinking and smoking well, then back to the UK.
He had to join the Royal navy and was put on a destroyer which he hated because it was all strict routine/discipline and uniforms. He applied for a transfer to MTBs - motor torpedo boats. These were used to attack German submarines and to pick up airmen both allied and German that were shot down in the Channel and North Sea. The week after he was transferred the destroyer was torpedoed and sank with only a handful of survivors. He loved the MTBs because no one wore uniforms, you could never tell who the captain was, it was all informal. These were two examples of very lucky sods who both had 'godd wars'.
It is Americans that tell us on this thread what terrible fathers they had but in truth that is the same story across the world. It also speaks to how strong they were mentally to come out the right side of their upbringings. I have had the misfortune to have relationships with girls who had really shite fathers or no fathers at all. With life's experiences I know that it is absolutely vital that girls have men (they don't have to be their biological fathers) that can show emotion and who they can go to for affection and love and tell them their fears and dreams and if they don't the consequences for them can be really bad. The same way that boys need to have mothers that can show them real love and affection and how to treat women.
I ended up with a woman who was adopted by a wonderful man as her step father and a narcissist as a step mother. I'm glad that the step mother died the year before I met my wife to be as I would have mercilessly attacked her mentally and that would have been the last time I saw Angela. To this day some 38 years after this nasty piece of shite died, my wife still cannot express anger against her. The love and warmth that she got from her step father is what saved her and made it possible for her to achieve so much in her career to end up as a lecturer in paediatric nursing. I have seen her with her students and saw first hand how much they loved and respected her, without that step father, the bitch of a narcissist would surely have destroyed her completely - you can choose your friends but not your family.
I ended up with a woman who was adopted by a wonderful man as her step father and a narcissist as a step mother. I'm glad that the step mother died the year before I met my wife to be as I would have mercilessly attacked her mentally and that would have been the last time I saw Angela. To this day some 38 years after this nasty piece of shite died, my wife still cannot express anger against her. The love and warmth that she got from her step father is what saved her and made it possible for her to achieve so much in her career to end up as a lecturer in paediatric nursing. I have seen her with her students and saw first hand how much they loved and respected her, without that step father, the bitch of a narcissist would surely have destroyed her completely - you can choose your friends but not your family.
My dad was wonderful but not so when I was a kid. He had war caused trauma as he witnessed and experienced terrible things but he never spoke about that nor did he show emotions. It came as a surprise to us when someone interviewed him about the war and then told us gruesome stories of what dad had been through. We never knew….
He passed away end of last year and I miss him every day.
He passed away end of last year and I miss him every day.
Last edited:
My father had issues with the war too, and he would not talk about them too much. I tried to pry some details out of him but he wouldn't say much. He was in Europe for at least 4 or 5 years, right out of high school. He said he saw the prisoners after being liberated from the death camps. In spite of being almost dead from starvation and clothed in flimsy rags, they were smiling from ear to ear. He never said more than that.
My neighbor passed away about a year ago. He was 99 years old and the survivor of a Polish work camp. I never asked him any questions, although I certainly wanted to. But I did talk to his son after his death (son is my age) and he didn't share much with him either. He came to the US several years after the war ended, worked at a bakery in Rodgers Park his whole working life, got married, and bought the house next door to me in 1960 with a 10 year mortgage. That's all I really know.
My neighbor passed away about a year ago. He was 99 years old and the survivor of a Polish work camp. I never asked him any questions, although I certainly wanted to. But I did talk to his son after his death (son is my age) and he didn't share much with him either. He came to the US several years after the war ended, worked at a bakery in Rodgers Park his whole working life, got married, and bought the house next door to me in 1960 with a 10 year mortgage. That's all I really know.
The meaning of life thread was just talking about charity and it reminded me of the ol’ saying my dad used to use…..
“A$$,Grass,or Cash….nobody rides for free” 😆
“A$$,Grass,or Cash….nobody rides for free” 😆