They share a home and a last name. But little else …

It was always the same: my mother would be unable to deal with a situation so she would just tell my father what I did wrong. Then my father would come home and start screaming at me at the top of his lungs. Even though he didn’t hit me I was terrified and shaken each time. He never even asked me what happened. He just took my mother’s word for it. Even when I was already a teenager he never bothered to ask me how I saw the situation or what I thought or felt about it. To him I was a nothing — not even important enough to talk to like a human being. I hate both my parents: my father for his endless rage at me and my mother for ensuring my victimhood.

“We’re doing the right thing. Parents have to stand together. There is no need to ask the child for his opinion. Parents are the authority figures. I’m not going to ask my child “Did Mommy tell me the truth when she said that you were disrespectful?” This makes it seem like my wife and my child are on equal footing. If my wife tells me something of course I believe her and don’t have to question the child. How would she feel if I went to the child to get his version of the story?”

I’ve never wanted my father to hold a court between my mother and myself! My father could have just said something like “Mommy told me you were disrespectful to her today. Why don’t you explain to me what happened?” Then I would have told him that I’d been upset and I didn’t act right and I’m sorry. Why did they have to treat me like I was a dumb animal? If they would have spoken normally to me I would have responded normally. I knew I was wrong. But you know what? I wasn’t the only one who was wrong — my mother was very disrespectful to me too. She would call me all sorts of names and only then would I yell back at her. It doesn’t mean I was right. But I would have liked to be able to share my pain with my father. If only he would have let me tell him! He could have said “I hear you but it is still no excuse to be rude to your mother. A mother is a mother.” If he would have let me just talk I would have accepted what he was saying. I knew it was true. I learned the halachos of kibud av v’eim just like everyone else.

“I don’t have to listen and I don’t have to be nice when my son insults his mother. I have to show him in no uncertain terms that this kind of behavior is forbidden. I have to put fear into him. Fear will teach him to behave properly in the future.”

Yes I had plenty of fear. I even had panic attacks and nightmares. Did all that make me learn my lesson? Not at all. I had to save myself — I became more and more defiant. My fear only caused me to hate my father. I saw that he was unfair unreasonable and unbelievably mean. I lost all respect for him. Instead of loving and respecting my father I felt disgusted by him. If he knew that I wonder if he would still say that his strategy was the right way.

“I don’t have to justify my strategy to my child. I do what is best for him even if he doesn’t like me. We don’t have to be friends — that is the foolishness of today’s young parents. I am the father and that is it — if my son likes me good but if he doesn’t it is the price I have to pay. I know I did the right thing. I was not selfish about it like the modern parents who need their kids to like them so much. I was willing to put my needs aside in order to do what was best for the child.”

My father was a bully — nothing more and nothing less. He didn’t scream like that because he was trying to do the best for me. He screamed because his form of “education” was intimidation. He took advantage of his position of authority. He mistreated me because he could not because he cared so much about me. He’s not fooling me or anyone else.

“My son was a problem child from the beginning. He always had an attitude problem. He blames his parents but he needs to look athimself. He is a very troubled person.”