I talked about my Dad, and wrote, in child Rita’s defence that I didn’t want the child Rita’s Dad to hurt her in the cellar;

 Hurt her in the cellar, Dad to hurt her mom in bed at night;  Hurt her mom in bed at night,  to hurt her sister and break her bones; hurt her sister and break her bones, to hurt her brother, and beat him until he almost lost consciousness.

My view of punishing Father, transferred in part to my view of my Heavenly Father. Also for example, dickhead (my father) and the budgie showed him to be a punishing father. He killed the budgie, and said it was our fault because we forgot to feed the budgie. Why did I pray and ask God to help me love my Dad?

Because I didn’t love him. He was cruel. He was a bully. He kept beating up on helpless, defenceless women and children. He couldn’t keep a job. He got drunk, became aggressive, hurt us. He nagged my mom, verbally abused her endlessly repeating himself. I hated the way we had to humour him to avoid upsetting him, and then having to face the consequences of his anger.

He shouldn’t have used his hands like hammers – my poor brother was mentally retarded and got beatings for the slightest thing – my Dad lashed out in uncontrollable fits of rage and anger, he was incredibly violent.  He showed remorse, promised never to do it again and broke his promises every time.

He couldn’t help himself, he was an alcoholic and when he was drunk he became very violent. He blamed us for his actions, said that we drove him to drink, we were somehow lacking, hence his unhappiness and anger.

He especially blamed my mom, her affairs, her character, the fact that she was not good. I got a call from Barbie about Daddy beating Albie.  My Aunt Barbie witnessed one of the beatings Albie received, and she had to go for therapy as an adult to deal with what she had witnessed. It gave her a fear of men.

They all said, I was the lucky one, I was Dad’s favourite, and I had it easy. He said, I was the only one who loved him, I was the only one who understood him, and I was his blue-eyed little girl. I have mixed feelings.

I feel guilty that I wasn’t beaten. I feel guilty because I couldn’t make things better for them. There was a cost to being his blue-eyed girl. At his funeral and afterwards I recognised that I loved him in part. I see that I loved him and felt compassion for him, but also hated many things he did and said. I had ambivalent feelings towards him. While having my quiet time in the bath, I complained to God why did he choose the Dad he gave me and not another? Why did He command me to honour and obey my Dad?

God’s quick answer:

God did not create my Father as he had become, He is not responsible for my Dad’s choices. Monica said I was also not responsible for my Dad’s choices. So neither God nor I are responsible, he himself is responsible for his own choices. I can’t blame myself.  I can’t blame God. I must look afresh at my Dad and the choices he made. I have the picture presented by my Aunt. Celia was not doing anything wrong. Mommy chose not to protect Celia. Dad chose to beat helpless defenceless children and woman, without restraint or concern for their well being.