> All that said, now as a parent myself, I feel sorry for him.
Slowly but surely, everything I thought I knew about my parents has changed now that I am a parent. I used to harbor bitter resentments against my mother, and wanted her to know how she failed me… now I just see an old woman who gave what she could to her five children and is just as much a “beloved child of God” as each of them. I am also acutely aware that, as long as I’m not abusive, absent or wildly inconsistent, my behavior as a parent is probably more important as my child’s future model of parent behavior when it comes time to raise the next generation. I like to joke that I insist on my son giving his grandmother a hug each time he sees her as a favor to my wife: down payment on more grandchild hugs for her in the future.
I guess that's what happens if you're a competent parent. I had the opposite experience, my failures as a parent have highlighted my own parents' failures that I had previously thought were normal.
I wish I'd been so lucky. As I've grown as a parent, I've unconsciously put my mother under a microscope and keep discovering that, while she tried, she failed. We were once very close but as I've gotten older, I can compare and contrast her behavior with mine. We all suffered emotional abuses (and I've my sisters repeat the patterns, to varying degrees) but I also suffered physically, which is then took out on my younger siblings. And my mother was the good parent.
My father (a term I use only to describe lineage) was mean and heavy handed. Belts were common, switches less so but not out of the realm of possibility. He was violent with my mother, his next wife's, my oldest sister and me. Probably more but those are the ones I remember. To the world outside, he was a good person but to me, he's both my demon and my motivation to be good person, a good father and a good spouse.
Ask him and he'll tell you that things we witnessed never happened. The tray of brownies fell, he didn't throw it. That burn mark on the ceiling is just there; he threw the iron "in the general direction because if I'd wanted to hit her with it, I would have."
We've been estranged since I was in 17. We agreed to let him back in once. Lasted six months. Never again. He doesn't know where I live and unless my kid wants to meet him some day, he'll never be given the opportunity.
My mother and I finally fell out because of COVID. There were other things going on but COVID was the last one. I drew a line that said unless you get vaccinated, you can't come in my home. (She got every flu shot and vaccine, until this one.) She chose politics, I chose to protect my kid and wife. Since she won't be visiting ever again, we decided the easiest path was to just stop talking. If my kid wants to meet "mean nanna" some day, I'll arrange it but my wife and kid come first.
I live my mother. It's an unfortunate outcome. My father... I couldn't care less. He's been dead to me for years.
Slowly but surely, everything I thought I knew about my parents has changed now that I am a parent. I used to harbor bitter resentments against my mother, and wanted her to know how she failed me… now I just see an old woman who gave what she could to her five children and is just as much a “beloved child of God” as each of them. I am also acutely aware that, as long as I’m not abusive, absent or wildly inconsistent, my behavior as a parent is probably more important as my child’s future model of parent behavior when it comes time to raise the next generation. I like to joke that I insist on my son giving his grandmother a hug each time he sees her as a favor to my wife: down payment on more grandchild hugs for her in the future.