One Part of My Father's Legacy
Recent events have reacquainted me with a certain aspect of my father's that he passed down to me and my sisters: his temper. He is legendary for his anger, and what damage he does to others when he is in his rage, and I fear this in me, try to distance myself from it, and yet count on it in certain ways.
When I was a kid, I was always told of how much of a completely homicidal maniac he can be when truly furious, and I always took these stories as warnings for my future. One story in particular is pretty illuminating of the type of rageful ability the man had:
The day I was born, he was at a phone booth, trying to call the hospital to find out how my mother was doing. He had just gotten off work as a crane operator, and was anxious to get in touch with the hospital to find out if she had had yet another girl, or the much hoped for boy.
At that moment, someone shoved his head from behind, causing his face to slam into the metal receiver for the phone. He turned around in a haze, the anger sparking up in him like a nuclear chain reaction, and he saw 5 men with knives waiting to mug him and beat him senseless.
He kicked the man immediately in front of him in the chest and sent him flying. He employed all of his knowledge of his many years in street fights in Somerville, and his knowledge from his time in the Marine Corps. 10 minutes or so later, there were five guys on the ground in critical condition. He had broken their arms, legs, ribs; he had bitten off one guy's nose, and ripped out another guy's eye. How he was able to not kill them is the most amazing part.
When the cops came, they went to arrest HIM, but the fire chief, who had been watching from across the street, came out and excitedly told the police that it was not he who was the perpetrator, but the ones on the ground in a bloody, moaning heap. The cops asked the fire chief why he didn't help, and the chief said that he and the rest of the firemen were afraid that he would do to them what he was doing to the men who had attacked him. The police searched my dad, suspecting that he had used a weapon, but he hadn't. He was a tornado of anger, hatred, and vicious revenge.
There are many such stories about my dad, and I am always amazed that he never went to prison for any of it.
In my own life, I have had quite a few fights, and I've even broken a couple of bones. I know the rage that sits inside my father like a ticking time bomb because it is inside of me. I am ever aware of it, and very often have to take hold of myself lest it overwhelm me.
It is the same with my sisters, and I often fear what might happen if one of them totally lost control. I suppose given the right circumstances, each of us is capable of unimaginable atrocity; the only thing standing in the way of this floodgate of destruction is our capacity for reason, and knowing right from wrong.
What I have learned to do is to turn the hot temper into positive, productive determination. I've channelled it into more tenacity than I thought I had, and this has helped me in times when I didn't think I would be able to accomplish whatever goal I had set before me. And at other times, it has changed itself into a tremendous power for good, allowing me to take action to end violent confrontaion through cool-headed and confident action.
This massive temper I have been handed down is always something to be wary of, but at the same time, learning to deal with it in positive ways has helped me in so many aspects of my adult life.
It makes me wonder whether or not, given the same environment and opportunities in life that I have had, what my father might have accomplished in my place. I can only assume that he would have done at least as much, if not even more.
But then, this is such arrogance! I can never hope to re-cast my father in my image in some hopeless attempt to understand him on my terms! The truth is that he has done so much with his life already, despite his tough upbringing and all the failings that he has had, and that any of us have, if the life is examined closely. In fact, he has accomplished something I most likely never will, and for that, I am forever in his debt. He helped to raise someone who has taken his lessons, both intended and not, and is always trying to learn from them.
When I was a kid, I was always told of how much of a completely homicidal maniac he can be when truly furious, and I always took these stories as warnings for my future. One story in particular is pretty illuminating of the type of rageful ability the man had:
The day I was born, he was at a phone booth, trying to call the hospital to find out how my mother was doing. He had just gotten off work as a crane operator, and was anxious to get in touch with the hospital to find out if she had had yet another girl, or the much hoped for boy.
At that moment, someone shoved his head from behind, causing his face to slam into the metal receiver for the phone. He turned around in a haze, the anger sparking up in him like a nuclear chain reaction, and he saw 5 men with knives waiting to mug him and beat him senseless.
He kicked the man immediately in front of him in the chest and sent him flying. He employed all of his knowledge of his many years in street fights in Somerville, and his knowledge from his time in the Marine Corps. 10 minutes or so later, there were five guys on the ground in critical condition. He had broken their arms, legs, ribs; he had bitten off one guy's nose, and ripped out another guy's eye. How he was able to not kill them is the most amazing part.
When the cops came, they went to arrest HIM, but the fire chief, who had been watching from across the street, came out and excitedly told the police that it was not he who was the perpetrator, but the ones on the ground in a bloody, moaning heap. The cops asked the fire chief why he didn't help, and the chief said that he and the rest of the firemen were afraid that he would do to them what he was doing to the men who had attacked him. The police searched my dad, suspecting that he had used a weapon, but he hadn't. He was a tornado of anger, hatred, and vicious revenge.
There are many such stories about my dad, and I am always amazed that he never went to prison for any of it.
In my own life, I have had quite a few fights, and I've even broken a couple of bones. I know the rage that sits inside my father like a ticking time bomb because it is inside of me. I am ever aware of it, and very often have to take hold of myself lest it overwhelm me.
It is the same with my sisters, and I often fear what might happen if one of them totally lost control. I suppose given the right circumstances, each of us is capable of unimaginable atrocity; the only thing standing in the way of this floodgate of destruction is our capacity for reason, and knowing right from wrong.
What I have learned to do is to turn the hot temper into positive, productive determination. I've channelled it into more tenacity than I thought I had, and this has helped me in times when I didn't think I would be able to accomplish whatever goal I had set before me. And at other times, it has changed itself into a tremendous power for good, allowing me to take action to end violent confrontaion through cool-headed and confident action.
This massive temper I have been handed down is always something to be wary of, but at the same time, learning to deal with it in positive ways has helped me in so many aspects of my adult life.
It makes me wonder whether or not, given the same environment and opportunities in life that I have had, what my father might have accomplished in my place. I can only assume that he would have done at least as much, if not even more.
But then, this is such arrogance! I can never hope to re-cast my father in my image in some hopeless attempt to understand him on my terms! The truth is that he has done so much with his life already, despite his tough upbringing and all the failings that he has had, and that any of us have, if the life is examined closely. In fact, he has accomplished something I most likely never will, and for that, I am forever in his debt. He helped to raise someone who has taken his lessons, both intended and not, and is always trying to learn from them.
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