Soul Mosaic

My father. What to say about him? My final thoughts on him I will save for the end of the book because my feelings about him are evolving even as I continue to write.

For right now, I will simply relate actions, words, and behaviors to demonstrate what he was like to live with all those years…some examples of what we were up against.

The “second” day

One of the good things about my father was that he wanted us to learn. And he would take us places on vacation. Expose us to new places and things to broaden our horizons. Those parts were the moments we took joy in. But as with everything with Dad, there was always “the second day.”

The buildup to vacation was always great. Dad was in a good mood. There was the excitement of packing, hearing about the places we were going to visit. Even if it was a short trip, that day before leaving and the first day of the trip were just a sheer pleasure. But then there was always the “second” day.

“Where would you like to go first?”

Before I get into the specifics of my father’s tools of control, I want to share some general patterns and behaviors common in many abusive households. And many, if not all of these, applied to my home.

At the time, of course, I wouldn’t have known to call these things abusive. I would have shrugged them off as just one of those bad days we had to survive until Dad was in a better mood. Because after all, no one’s house is perfect, right?

I share them now for all of us to see, and especially to help any others out there right now who are living in the same hell.

Things done by abusers to intimate partners and/or older children

Earlier I spoke about five things often done to wives by abusers. The information came from an article by psychologist and life coach Fahim Chughtai. And while he was speaking of narcissists specifically, I can vouch for the fact that my father did these things to my mother CONSTANTLY:

• He decides what counts as an overreaction
• He rewrites arguments after they happen
• He keeps a running tally of what you owe him
• He makes your independence feel like betrayal
• He apologizes to keep you, not because he means it

The article’s subtitle says it all: “The five patterns that turn a marriage into a slow, quiet takeover, and why none of them are your fault.”

For sure, that marriage was a takeover by my father. And by the time I was old enough to notice these patterns, they were a normal course of life in our house. I will also note that these tactics weren’t reserved for my mother alone.

Is it about a name…or an action?

There are so many labels tossed around:

• Narcissists (Which can now be split into Grandiose versus Vulnerable ones)
• Sociopaths
• Dark Empaths

And diagnoses:

• Antisocial Personality Disorder
• Borderline Personality Disorder
• Narcissistic Personality Disorder

And qualities like the Dark Tetrad of Malevolent Traits:

• Psychopathy
• Machiavelianism
• Narcissism
• Sadism

There are articles I see:

• The 15 Signs of a “this diagnosis”
• The 10 Questions “that diagnosis” won’t answer
• and on and on

All of them contain useful, affirming information. But all of them can also be totally confusing and overwhelming. Especially if I asked the wrong questions.

It would be easy for me to get caught up in ones like:

Before I start writing about my house, the specific tools my father used, or what kind of a person would do those things and why, I wanted to learn more about how domestic abuse operates for anyone. Seeing so many things I experienced listed as “Universal” patterns and techniques felt…affirming. Helpful as a way to stop judging and self-blaming.

For so long I blamed myself for not being smart enough to realize it even was abuse, much less for taking so long to get free. So to see what powerful mind-controlling tools I was up against gave me comfort. The fact I got out was no small achievement and one to be honored, not demeaned.

So, some background that helped me; then I will go on to my experiences.

1950s Terror – A new secret weapon?

In July of 1953, an armistice was finally signed to end hostilities in the Korean War. That also allowed officials on both sides to begin prisoner exchanges.

One particular exchange in September of that year was extremely disturbing to the US authorities there. During that event, twenty-three American POWs, looking well cared for, came forward, shook hands with their captors, shouted expressions of solidarity with them, then, instead of coming to the US side, turned and defected to Communist China. And this was just the beginning of US officials discovering evidence of how many American POWS cooperated with their enemy.

Panic set in at high levels of the military. They were worried that a new “brainwashing” weapon had been employed – one that could somehow render the POWs as “blank mental slates,” and then insert new thoughts and beliefs in them. So, frantic to understand how so many US servicemen could betray their country so willingly, they tasked a US Air Force social scientist, Albert Biderman, to determine what had happened.

Soup

As my father told it, one day, as a young boy, he was at his grandmother’s house. He and a few of his uncles were sitting at the table eating soup. In response to what they were saying to him, and despite his young age, he snarled back at them and told them to “Shaddup!”

My father’s nasty delivery of that word left no question in my mind that he was totally proud of his bravado back then, and that he felt he had every right to talk to them that way. The unspoken message to us was that we, too, should be that tough in life.

Even as a kid myself, hearing that story, I wondered about his nasty retort to the grownups at the table. I knew what would have happened to me if I talked to him, or my grandparents, or any other family adults like that. But then, my grandparents and relatives were nice.

Were his uncles really being nasty to him, or were they just joking around and he was being the nasty one? And what did they think of the way he answered them? Were they angry? Surprised? Or, given that side of the family, proud that he already showed such “backbone” at a young age? Maybe they were trying to toughen him up.

As with all of Dad’s stories and lectures, I took it in and kept my counsel in reserve. By nature, I wasn’t inclined to be that way, and I think I decided that if I was ever in such a situation, I’d wait to see how the adults acted. If they were nice, I would be nice. If they weren’t…well, Dad was giving me permission to be disrespectful…expected me to be, in fact… and I figured he would back me up if I was. He was always good about us fighting “outsiders.” Just not fighting him.

Mindset…and personal choice

Mindset, motivations, and decisions – the individual choices we make with a given set of circumstances – and how we make those choices are all topics of deep interest to me. They were the things my conscience has obsessively explored when looking back at my actions.

Maybe it was the Catholic streak imbued in me over years of going to Confession – that whole directive to “make a complete and full examination of your conscience” that the Church dogma drilled into us. You were supposed to analyze what you did. Ask yourself why you did it…REALLY ask. And ruthlessly ask yourself whether you tried your best or just took the easy way out. And most of all – did you KNOW in that moment you were compromising yourself and taking the easy way out? KNOWING and still choosing was the key moment at the core of any decision.

I was always rigorous in that self-examination – maybe too hard. But I preferred to be too hard on me than later realize God disagreed with my conclusions. Even now, I apply the same strong self-interrogation about how I handled something, striving hard not to give myself the benefit of the doubt, and still sometimes being too hard on myself. So it’s no surprise that the whole concept of a person’s mindset, beliefs, and the choices they make in life has fascinated me.

Character motivation

To that end, I’ve read books on the subject ranging from spiritual tomes to psychology texts to books on how to write, especially the subject of character motivations. And it was the author of one of those – K.M. Weiland – who gave me some clues about my father.

“You lucky you got Richie!”

It was one of those contentious family social media dialogues after the 2016 election. One of my aunts on my father’s side of the family was reveling in the election outcome and spewing nastiness about people who didn’t share her political opinions or candidate choice. I responded with respect because she was my elder, but made it clear I didn’t agree with her way of communicating…or her candidate. She flung some comments back at me, then ended it with:

“Your father would’ve straightened you out!”

I still remember sitting there as my eyes shot wide open and my blood pressure felt like it blew through the top of my skull.

The question

I saw this on Facebook recently, and it gave me pause:

“You meet your 21-year-old self. You are allowed three words. What do you say?”

Wow. First, I was speechless, then I was flooded with all the things I wanted to say, in three words or thirty, all the things I would want her to hear, take in, believe:

• I love you.
• You’re my hero.
• You did it!
• You saved us!
• You are amazing!
• I was wrong.

These were immediately followed by a swell of guilt and shame with questions like:

To close out this Albedo section, a “Moment of Respite” before diving into the intensity of the next section – Citrinitas. Moments of Respite are my precious “restorative” technique I’ve used throughout life to sustain me.

To sustain them

While I was still working at the museum, I did a class I called “Science Conversations.” It was a free-form, walk-in kind of program. Kids visiting the museum could walk in, and I would have some kind of science demo. But the real goal, what I really wanted, was to get the kids talking about themselves.

What were their dreams?
What did they love?
What lurked in their imaginations that they hadn’t even considered?
And I didn’t even care if they hated science.

I’d engage them with oddball questions that caught them by surprise and got them laughing and talking.
“If you could build a flying car or a time machine, which would you choose, and why?
And if it was a time machine, where would you go…and why?”

I made it clear there were no wrong answers, that everyone must respect each person’s responses, and that always, there had to be a “why.” Because WHY was the core of them.

They would be timid at first. Just one or two brave souls. But the more they saw I loved and really engaged with their answers, and that I truly wanted to hear from them, their inner floodgates opened, and dreams poured out.

I asked one time, “Doesn’t anyone ask you what you think?” And sadly, they said, “No.” So I passionately told them they must think and question, because they would be our future leaders.

To which they replied, “We will?” Sigh.

So I would respond with fire, looking each of them in the eye, and affirming that they indeed would, and most importantly, that the world NEEDED them. I told them it was vital for them to do that because my generation screwed it all up, and we need fresh minds and ideas and hearts.

After that, they couldn’t answer fast enough.

One of the other questions I asked was, “If you could be dropped anywhere in the world…or outer space…where would you go, and why?”

I reveled in their answers – a true window into so many souls who, despite the possible ugliness in their lives, still had dreams and wishes.

I hope my “conversations” helped to give them a moment’s respite from whatever they lived with, and the ability to escape, even briefly, into a place of hope for their future. To feed them and sustain them through “whatever.”

I knew only too well that it was Moments of Respite like this that kept me alive. So, where were the places I would have liked to be? Or still do?

The question

Sometimes, when I can’t quite figure something out and can’t even form the question, I paint. The movement of my hands across the canvas, while smelling the paint and seeing the image, seems to forge a connection to my logic-based brain. Then, finally, the chaos clears, and the words spill out.

A while back, I did a triptych set of paintings that captured my feelings about going from catastrophe or trauma, through disoriented darkness, to a gradual scarring over, restoring, and healing. And while that wounded heart is never the same as before the trauma, still, it mends, and I go on.

Looking at those heart images, which were a metaphor for me and the brokenness I felt, this question finally became clear in my mind:

If this is trapped in my body….