My father was born 91 years ago today.
His fathers favorite, yet they fought horribly.
Movie-star handsome; my parents were beautiful. It almost hurts to look at pictures, knowing now what they'd do to one another.
Easily moved to white-hot, flashing rages. Manic depression is genetic. I have those same rages.
He'd give you his shirt.
Remarkably social, yet felt worthless somehow, inept.
He was not there for me. He did not come through. He didn't protect me from myself or others. He had checked out.
He loved me. I loved him.
Life is complex.
Happy Birthday, Dad