|My father cut out the image of my mother sometime during his second marriage. He had his reasons but I regret not being able to study the visage of the woman who had such a devastating effect on our family.|
And dad knew that; he had his own finely tuned threat-gauge that seems to belong in the toolkit of fatherhood. He quickly consulted his gauge, saw that the needle was way down on the Green
zone, and dismissed my terror as unnecessary. I wasn't humiliated. Dad wasn't the kind of dad who called his son a pussy. He simply enabled me to gain a perspective on the situation, which I grasped with total instant clarity. My Nazi friend was all hot air. End of story.