Chester wasn’t wholly bad, obviously, but his hatred for my mother was overwhelming and of course when he saw me, he saw her. His many explosions of rage and cruelty very nearly obliterated the memories of pleasant experiences with him. It's hard trying to come up with an example.
All right, here's one.
After he came home after work he’d send me to the deli to get a tub of ice cream and a big bag of potato chips. He loved maple walnut. He’d lie on the couch, and I’d sit crossways on the big stuffed chair by the front door. We’d watch old black and white movies on TV. I loved his laughter, and he’d really get into it. When he laughed loudly I felt safe. Wanted. Whenever Hawaii appeared on the screen, he’d rise up from his reclined postion and say, “Hey! Look! I was THERE! That’s Diamond Head, on the beach of Waikiki”
Okay, watching old movies and eating ice cream and potato chips and drinking Coke with him was great.
( Collapse )