Page 71 - WhyAsInY

WHo are tHese PeoPle? (Part 2)
sometimes with my father’s belt, rather than his open hand, being the weapon of choice, was resorted to on a number of occasions when I was small. For obvious reasons, I hated it and became quite fearful when I realized that the inevitable was coming. The problem was compounded by the fact that I was a very difficult child to manage. It was further com- pounded by my father’s realization that I was afraid of receiving a licking, especially one in which his belt would be employed. Under- standing my fear of the belt, when my behavior presumably warranted punishment or, at least, deterrence, my father would flush and come toward me holding the belt doubled over in his hands, a position that permitted him to push his hands toward each other and then pull them quickly apart. That action caused the belt to deliver a terrifying warning via multiple loud cracking sounds, and that, combined with the expres- sion on his face at those times, is something that has stuck with me. I feared it. And I feared him.
As I said, corporal punishment was something that occurred when I was young. It did not continue as I got older, but his anger, which often struck me as being just below the surface, did have its effects. And it was probably in my head as my mother would caution me, as I stated above: “Just wait until your father gets home.” He, not my mother, was the dis- ciplinarian. Oddly enough, in the aftermath of the one event in my childhood that, one might think, should have led to a tirade of colossal proportions, Dad was calm and accepting: There is no doubt that when I was about ten or eleven, I got into the unfortunate habit of playing with matches. As I recall it, one evening, uniformed firemen rushed into our house to put out the fire that engulfed the fully stacked bookcase in my room at 1771 Ocean Avenue. After the flames were extinguished, I received a stern lecture from the senior firefighter on the scene. In truth, I have absolutely no recollection of having set the fire. I do recall that I denied having done so; I do not recall being yelled at or punished by my dad.
My father’s anger is, of course, far from all that I remember about him. He was also quite capable of tenderness and playfulness. He patiently endured my complaints and frustration, and he repeatedly
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