bipolar dad

It was Winter 1976 in Boston. A late January snow storm was on the way and there was a chill in the air. But that was not the reason for the chill. I could hear my father and my mother’s father screaming then loud bumps. My mother grabbed and pushed all five of us into the back yard. My father and grandfather were fist fighting in the house. I could see them in the back first floor window tossing each other aside like gladiators of old. My mother was yelling, my baby brother was crying and the noise just kept getting louder. Shadows flying about then moving ever closer to the window. Like the sound of a thousand spoons falling…the window burst open. Shards of shattered glass glistened in the air as the two men crashed through and landed in front of me. Fists still flying as the fight moves on my mother pulls me away. In the distance, I hear the sirens. I see blood. Blood on my father’s face, his hands, and arms. The blood is every where. As the Winter grass turns red, my memory fades. I am almost five and I recall nothing more of that day.

It’s said if you want to know what children will turn out to be like, just look at the parents. In my younger years, I would deny that expression tooth and nail because never would I want to turn out like my father. My father, who I loved, died some 12 years ago now. He never got to meet his grandson, my first born. I know he would finally be proud of me! That kind of says a lot, “he would finally” because most of my youth was spent seeking his approval. Yet never feeling it was obtained. I grew up in a small town just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. My father was not the father he wanted to be due to an accident at work and his mobility was forever limited. He was prone to violent mood swings covered over with great times and lots of disappointments. He was a scary man to those that crossed him and was the life of a party. This is how I knew my father. A man who I would love and respect and forever long for his approval. Although, it was an up-hill battle. You, see, my father was a Bipolar Dad, too.

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