#PTSDDaddy Remembering My Dad
I grew up watching war movies and westerns with my father. Many of these movies bored me at the time but as I grew older it became a pastime with my pop. I have spent uncountable weekends sipping whiskey and watching movies with my dad.
These were the times in which at some point we would have the most meaningful conversations of my life. Either between movies or when dad would randomly pause a movie to talk. In these pauses in life I learned the most about my father. It was just him and I, and believe it or not he showed me the most about myself. I miss my father a great deal he was not just a dad.
As cliché as it sounds he was my hero. My father was my role model, my best friend, and the only person alive who understood me and the craziness that is me. We could communicate without words. I miss that scotch drinkin’ son of a bitch!
Some of my earliest memories of my father was fear. Dad was the one you did not want angry and everyone in the house knew when he was angry. He could go days of not talking to anyone. Lord knows you did not want to have my mother say “wait in your room until your father comes home!” That was the absolute worst. I remember fearing of the large brown Webster’s Dictionary that we had at home.
You see my older brother did not do well in school at times. My father knew it was not that my brother Mike was dumb. Mike was just he was not applying himself. I remember him yelling at my older brother at the table and then he would call him a name. Right after calling my brother Mike a name he would ask him “do you know what that means?” If Mike replied with “no” dad would grab the Webster’s Dictionary, slam it on the table and shout “LOOK IT UP!” I did not know what a dictionary was, let alone how to use it. I was scared to death that I would piss my father off enough to have him call me a name and make me “look it up!”