[continued from previous message]   
      
   enrolled me in dance and music classes, the Cub Scouts, bought me   
   presents for each of my recitals (including a pet lamb), and was   
   convinced that I was going to grow up to be a movie star.   
      
   She did believe in corporal punishment, as did most parents of her   
   generation.  IIRC, you said the same thing in defense of your parents --   
   although keeping you in the house doing chores all day, refusing to   
   allow you in the living because "boys are filthy," and whipping your   
   bare ass every night go far beyond corporal punishment. My mother would   
   never have treated me in such an unloving manner.  Hell, I'd tie up her   
   guests while they sat in the living room chairs, and she'd just laugh   
   and tell them I was just having fun -- which was quite true, although   
   her guests often failed to appreciate it.   
      
   My father was also handsome, in a dark, Sicilian kind of way.  He was   
   even more intelligent than my mother, but since he worked all day, he   
   wasn't as involved with us as my mother.  He did make time for us   
   though, taking us fishing, digging for antique bottles with me in the   
   woods behind our house.  He rarely hit us when my mother was alive --   
   and then, only when we did something really bad ("Wait till your father   
   gets home!").  He suffered an emotional breakdown for two years after my   
   mother's death, during which time he was prone to bouts of physical   
   violence. I always stood up to him, but a 12-year old boy can't do much   
   against a 47-year old man.   
      
   After the first 6 months, his violent outburst gradually became less   
   frequent, and had stopped altogether by the time two years had passed.   
   He felt bad about it, and did his best to make it up to me for the   
   remainder of his life (he passed 11 years after my mother).  He even   
   bought me an MG! He died when I was 23.  He'd been disabled by a series   
   of strokes three years prior to his death, and I returned from the Navy   
   to take care of him.   
      
   Unlike the self-admittedly autobiographical narrator of your poem, I've   
   never wanted to go back to my childhood home and burn it down.  In fact,   
   I was deeply saddened when the new owners made it over, making it almost   
   unrecognizable.  I often daydream about buying and putting it back the   
   way it was in the 1960s and 70, with all of the flowers and blossoming   
   bushes and trees my father planted.   
      
   Except for my mother's untimely death and my father's consequent   
   breakdown, I had an excellent childhood -- insofar as my relationship   
   with my parents went.  We were far from rich (lower middle income at   
   best by my grandmother's estimation) but my parents spoiled us rotten.   
   We had a swing set, a jungle gym, a swimming pool, and a tent in our   
   back yard, dozens of pets, they turned their den into a toy room and   
   filled it up with toys (my father built us a huge three compartment toy   
   box to keep them in, and grew up thinking that we were rich.   
      
   In many ways, my childhood was as far removed from yours as possible.   
      
   But, yes.  During the time of my father's breakdown, I have no doubt   
   that I endured far more severe physical beatings than you ever did.   
   Best of times/worst of times, as Charles Dickens would say.   
      
   >>> More later, but I wanted to get these two points on record quickly.   
   >>   
   >> Same here, excellent observations on "Harry Lime."   
   >   
   > thanks. I have no idea if anyone will even read them here, aside from   
   > you and I, but if I don't get them down then no one ever will.   
      
   Enjoy yourself psychoanalyzing the above.  And, speaking of literary   
   characters, my Grandmother always compared me to O. Henry's "Red Chief."   
      
   --   
      
   --- SoupGate-DOS v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)