FATHER'S DAY

 Where to begin? My father John. I could write a book. He was probably the most complex person I ever knew. He was a genuine Jekyll and Hyde. He was the person who nearly completely destroyed my life.

He could be kind and extremely generous. He had a wicked sense of humor. He passionately loved music, just as my mother and I did. Classical music, Hungarian music, country music. He was an insatiable Hank Williams fan

He was extremely clever and could make or fix anything. His energy and creative imagination were boundless. He was a good provider and conscientious about paying bills.  He was obsessed with cleanliness. He was an extreme workaholic. He drank copious amounts of beer but wasn't an alcoholic.

When he first started school ( in New Jersey) he couldn't speak a word of English - - he only spoke Hungarian. Back in those days no one catered to kids like him. He learned English entirely by himself.

He dropped out of school in ninth grade and got a job delivering telegrams. When we moved to California (when I was six) he managed to lie his way into getting enrolled in Pasadena College. The classes that he took enabled him (many years later) to get an extremely good top job with the biggest steel company in California.

Back in New Jersey in his youth, my father was wild and got arrested several times for petty crimes (like stealing cars). Later he was involved in two serious scandals that would have given him possibly long prison sentences. I won't divulge details on a public blog, but both crimes happened because of his uncontrollable violent temper.

Blind luck was on his side. He was let off the hook for the first crime because at that time my mother was pregnant (with me) and the judge had compassion for her (things were so different back then) so my father served no time in prison.

The second scandal took place in California when I was six. My father miraculously won the court case due to a good attorney and some "witnesses" who lied in his behalf.

Truthfully, I had been the only one who had really witnessed my father's crime (he violently attacked another person). I was also in the court room for the trial, but didn't testify. If I did, he would have spent years in prison. 

My father was 19 when he joined the Navy and was catapulted into WWII. His ship was bombed but he survived. He was in the Normandy Invasion.

None of this is in logical order. I merely writing down random thoughts.

Without a doubt, my father was the most violent person I ever knew. His temper would ignite in seconds and his rage was completely maniacal. When the tempest was over (which could take days), he would awake as from a dream and pretend nothing had ever happened. He never said he was sorry.

His violent outbursts were always inspired by very minor things, never anything of major importance.

I dislike erasing the good times and focusing on the bad - - but the nightmarish incidents can't be eradicated.

I remember all the nights when my mother and I had to run outside and hide in the yard, praying that he wouldn't find us.

I remember the night when mom and I got into the car and tried to leave, but he found us and doused the garage with gasoline, threatening to burn it down.

My mother tried to leave many times, but the details are far too massive and complicated to relate here. Essentially, there was no escape.

I was fourteen, on a hot summer day, barefooted in the back yard trying to keep cool. My father was doing some work and I got in his way. He grabbed me and kept punching, then had me in a bear hug and squeezed until I was breathless....then kept stamping on my bare feet until they bled, with his heavy work boots.

That incident gave me two fractured ribs.

When enraged, his strength was Herculean. Once he ripped a wooden closet door off the hinges and kept bashing my mother over the head with it.

He had no mercy.

I vividly remember an incident that happened when I was a teen - - but I can't recall why he was angry. I was taking a shower in the bathroom. He burst in and pulled me out of the shower.

He dragged me, dripping wet and stark naked, to the front door and tossed me outside - then locked the door.

I had to hide somewhere near the back of the house. My mom came out and brought me a towel and some clothes.

There were two incidents involving a gun. One night my hatred overwhelmed me. I found my father's loaded revolver and planned to kill him. I sneaked into the room where he was sleeping and pointed the gun at him. I almost pulled the trigger numerous times......but finally considered the consequences.

I left the room as a coward.

Many years later, in another moment of anger, he handed me a loaded gun and told me to kill myself.

Dear old dad.

The final, very worst incident happened when I was eighteen. We had an incredibly violent blowup in the living room, during which he choked me into unconsciousness.

I escaped to Hollywood. Thus began the wild, reckless, dangerous years of debauchery and self-hatred. Booze, drugs, endless one night stands, lethal lovers.....I savored danger and welcomed self-destruction.

I embraced this insane lifestyle even when I was in college and became a professional pianist.

The tales I could tell are endless. This is merely a paltry blog post that should have never been written.

I forgave my father in his old age. He had a tough life when he was young and harbored many demons.....

All my hate has vanished and forgiveness is a relief. I have absolutely no right to judge.

I was with him when he died in 2005. My last words to him were

"I love you, dad."

Jon

Postscript

I was extremely hesitant to post this. How can an entire lifetime be condensed into a brief blog post? I hardly scratched the tip of the proverbial iceberg. I didn't tell about the times my mom tried to leave and the reasons why she didn't.

I didn't tell about all the other incidents that were FAR worse than the ones I revealed. I didn't mention the horrifying nightmares I had for years or the psychological wounds that were far worse than the physical ones.

Some people tell me to forget the past.

I survived the past and I'm stronger because of it. Any one who forgets the past is a coward.

In the Navy, my father is on the right in the white shirt

Showing off the fish that he caught

Dad in his Willys Jeep, probably 1949.

My parents in Atlantic City before they were married

I have no clue how old I was. Photo taken in New Jersey.

My parent's 40th wedding anniversary

Me and my father in his old age