My father, Norman, was a corporate attorney. He had come from a violent gang culture in Brooklyn and had pulled himself up by his bootstraps. His whole life before I existed was one of utter violence.
My mother, Gerry, had been married to my dad since before the war. He spent two years recovering from wounds from a mortar that had all but taken him out after the Battle of the Bulge. My mother once told me that, after he had been discharged from hospital, he had gone to a bank, taken his prewar personality, put it into a vault, locked it, thrown away the key and never looked back. He became totally money-oriented.
Continue reading...
0 comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.