A complicated weekend
June 16, 2025
Dad’s official Army Signal Corps portrait from 1945
No aspect of this post is created using any type of AI. All mistakes are mine, a real human.
THINKING ABOUT:
This past weekend brought up a lot. Pride to see so many in our country finally waking up and hitting the streets, sad to see the hard-working people serving in our military used as a prop, and conflicted about Father’s Day—as a survivor of childhood sexual abuse at the hands of my dad.
In my upcoming memoir Bitter, Sweet I wrestle with how people can be dark and light, horrible and lovely, and so very, very complicated. One of the things non-survivors have trouble understanding is how a child can still love a parent who abuses them. The guilt’s embedded in the challenge of healing—that we shouldn’t love them, that they don’t deserve our love—yet we do and feel terrible for doing so.
My father was a wildly complicated man. He grew up in racist southern Ohio, although technically north of the Mason-Dixon line. During the Depression he and his only brother hunted squirrels and rabbits to help put food on the table. He enlisted in the Army and due to his photography skills was assigned to make training films for the Army Signal Corps in New York City. His best friend Goldy introduced him to his wife’s sister, the woman who he would marry three months later and would become my mom.
He was sent to Germany as part of the Army of the Occupation. He and his team took endless photographs of rubble-strewn streets and the Nuremberg trials. There are images in Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan that could have been based on photographs taken by my father.
My parents and I were estranged for 16 years. By the time we reconnected, we stayed on safe topics like weather and sports, never politics. I’m guessing my dad voted Republican most of his life. He died in 2013, well before the current political hellscape began. I can tell you with certainty he was rolling over in his GRAVE on Saturday watching the U.S. Army used as a spectacle for a wanna-be dictator, and would be fuming to see people in this country gleefully identifying as Nazis or politicians and business leaders doing the Hitler salute.
Once every decade Father’s Day falls on my birthday, which used to send me into a rage. Over the years, a lot of my father wound has been healed watching my friends become great fathers. Watching my husband nurture the child in me, flooding me with presents early in our relationship until I finally knew in my bones that I was loved. Watching my husband care for our dogs, especially as they age, and seeing the sweetness that should be present in all fathers and their offspring is a beautiful thing.
I hope that this weekend—which might have been dark and light for you, too—came out overall in the light.
WATCHING:
In A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, Tom Hanks plays ultimate father figure Mr. Rogers, with Matthew Rhys as a fictional reporter who’s sent to interview him. I watched this movie assuming it was about Rogers, then realized it was about the traumatized reporter who is slowly healed by coming into contact with Fred’s genuine goodness. Hanks’ portrayal never feels sappy, and Rhys brings all his usual world-weary angst to the role.
Do you have a favorite movie about fathers? Tell me about it.
READING: What My Father and I Don’t Talk About—Sixteen Writers Break the Silence, edited by Michele Filgate
Another beautiful collection of essays from editor Michele Filgate, the follow-up to the wildly successful What My Mother and I Don't Talk About. The pieces from top literary essayists cover a wide range of perspectives and topics. I love that I could read one a day as a stand-alone mini book. Perfect for when your concentration is shot by impending fascism.
You'll find all of my book recommendations at my Bookshop. If you buy from this link the author makes more, an indie bookstore gets the sale, and I make a small commission. Win/Win/Win!
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Fun To Be Around is written by me, Stephanie Weaver, MPH an author and TED talk coach. I post for the delight of writing and connecting. No paywalls, ever. If you enjoy my writing and find yourself looking forward to the next issue, support my work as a disabled writer with a $5 monthly subscription. I love hearing from you, whether that's by email or in the comments where you're reading this.