When I think about my Dad...

To my immense regret, I have never spent any time, one-on-one, with my Dad. I guess that I was fearful of him and my parents in general. There was therefore never any opportunity for some close or cheerful dialog. It was mostly corrective and mean remarks that were made to me that characterized our relationship. 

In summary, any communication, when it took place, was mostly negative and none of it encouraged a pleasant exchange. As a result we’ve spent all of my youth ignoring one another and now that I look back to it, I think it’s terrible. 

I don’t remember my father being physically abusive on me, maybe one or two spanking that were totally accepted at the time, but mostly bursts of anger directed towards things I didn’t do right and mostly, disapproving and angry looks most of the time. 

The only times we were really together were when we were sorting the blueberries out from their leaves during harvest season, using a wooden blower designed for wheat, and also once when I drove him to Annecy to see a cardiologist. 

But even during these situations, there was never any meaningful communication I would have welcomed it, but was never expecting it from him. 

To his credit, my Dad must have only simply repeated the treatment he observed and had received from my paternal grand-father.

This was a very dark and regrettable part aspect of my upbringing, experience and memories from my Dad...