FROM ANOTHER SNOWY DAY – FEBRUARY 1988

On this snowy February day, I am thinking about a colleague of mine who is scheduled to fly to India tonight. She is worried that due to the weather, the flight will be cancelled. As I am home due to the weather, I am reflecting on an event, 27 years ago....In similar conditions, and heading to the airport in the early morning hours, hoping to catch a flight to Philadelphia. As a former flight attendant, I was quite sure that the flight would be cancelled. I was also pregnant with my first child, and had a little head cold. My ex was determined to visit his friend, so we took a cab to the airport, where we ended up sitting on the plane, only to deplane upon hearing the flight was cancelled. My ex began calling trains and buses in a futile attempt to travel via a different mode. All calls were in vain and we took a cab home. I wasn't disappointed, after sitting on the cold plane, for more than four hours, my cold symptoms had escalated. I conveyed this to my ex, as well as my eager anticipation to get into my warm bed with a cup of tea.  Upon getting home, I crawled into bed, as my ex called a local friend. In his typical over-animated narcissistic verbiage, I heard him describe how the weather was perfect ski weather, and his friend should join him for a impromptu trip to Vermont.  Despite his sick and pregnant wife, my ex rapidly repacked his suitcase with his ski gear, and left for the weekend, before boiling the water for my tea.  Although I should have been lovingly pampered, I was left to care for myself; fortunately something I could do quite well.  In retrospect, I enjoyed the quite solitude instead of having to listen to frustrated narcissistic rage.   

I don't know my colleague's husband, but I am quite certain that if their flight is cancelled tonight, they will rally.  He will brew her a cup of tea, and then they will look for another way to find a flight to India....together.

Returning to Blogging – Part 1

Obviously, it’s been far too long since my last entry.  Sometimes life has a way of getting away from us.  As a writer, those proverbial dry spells do exist, although sometimes it evolves from a lack of passion in our own lives.  My passion for the cause of ending domestic violence, ending parental alienation, and lending guidance to the victim has never waned.  Instead, my focus on the importance of these issues became dormant due to social issues of enormous proportions, which weighed heavily, and still continues to do so, despite another respite.  Fortunately, this is not a component of the fight many of my readers are facing.  I am not involved in any lengthy court battles, or domestic violence.  In fact, my preoccupation is something I could theoretically walk from, had it not involved a family member.  I shall address this in future blogs.  In doing some research, I discovered areas of personality disorders I did not know existed or even had a name.  Therefore, some future blogs will contain some fascinating and frightening information on infantile personality disorder, as well as addiction, gambling and depression. 

Another issue that kept me from blogging was more personable and shareable.  What should have been a happy occurrence became problematic, yet solvable, albeit time consuming.  I was hired for a full time position.  I was hired for a job working for the state in an administrative capacity in an industry that was completely foreign to me.  Not only was it unfamiliar, the learning curve was so great, that only someone with a passion for learning this industry could retain all the acronyms for each department and project.  Although my relegated cubicle was spacious and had a window, the autonomy was slightly more tolerable than the dreaded meetings where I would take minutes that I can only equate to transcribing a meeting conducted in a foreign language.  I suggested a Dictaphone for these meetings.  Sadly, that never came to fruition. 

On the day an invitation to meet with human resources appeared on my calendar, I knew my days were numbered.  I was never one to decorate my office space until I was certain I was sufficiently happy.  Therefore, there was little I needed to collect – a few pictures, and the record of the online and live courses I completed.  Bidding farewell to the woman in the neighboring cubicle – the only person I chatted with in the company, I made my way to the meeting. 

I was ushered into a conference room, with my immediate supervisor, who sat in awkward silence.  The human resource generalist, who I knew from previous meetings greeted me cheerily, but then sympathetically told me that “this is not a happy meeting”.  I replied, “I know,” although I had a huge smile on my face.  I knew I was being released from a job that simply did not work for me.  No remorse, no regrets, no anger…not every job is meant for every person.  Despite the generous salary, the weight of the stress of the workday had become intolerable.  My dismissal, as well as the ability to collect unemployment as far more desirable, despite the uncertainty of obtaining alternate employment.

In paralleling that separation to a marital dissolution, it occurred to me how similar I felt.  When I separated from my abuser, I felt relief.  I felt happy in moving on with my life.  I was optimistic for new opportunities. I left a marriage that did not work for me, just like leaving a job that did not work for me.  The only difference was who initiated the separation.  I imitated the marital separation, contrary to my former company who initiated the separation.   I looked at the latter split as a sensible culmination.  I had been looking at places outside of my workplace for something else, just as my former husband had been looking outside the marriage for someone else.  Why was my initiation of ending an unsatisfying union met with such anger and retaliation?  We have all read about the disgruntled employees who retaliate with violence after being terminated from employment.  These individuals are usually determined to be unstable and suffering from some psychological illness. 

With that analogy, perhaps my career aspirations should have been the law, as that comparison has won my case.  Isn’t it ironic that family court judges are not that insightful? 

            

Religion and the Narcissist

As the Jewish people just ushered in the year 5774 on the Hebrew Calendar, we are at the time of year when we celebrate, as well as repent for any sins during the previous year.  The Jewish New Year of Rosh Hashanah is followed by the Day of Atonement – Yom Kippur.  During the synagogue service, as we chant the prayer asking for forgiveness, we gently pound our heart as a symbol of sincerity of the intentions of our prayer.  I chant all the prayers as well, but have a real problem with forgiveness, but only toward my former husband, who has abused my children in the name of vengeance. 

You often hear of the parents of slain children forgiving their child’s murderer.  Whether an accident or a single criminal act caused their demise, the offense could be deemed bad judgment or attributed to mental illness.  In most cases the perpetrator did not wake up that morning and announce the name of the person he was planning to murder.  I am certainly not condoning a killing, but there is a difference between a horrific spur-of-the- moment or nameless choice versus a premeditated and purposeful act of cruelty.  As the convicted perpetrators sometimes apologize to the family professing their remorse, one can only hope the sincerity they are conveying is genuine.  As their admittance does not give them a lesser sentence, I would tend to believe they are sincere.

It is with that same tone of sincerity that the father of my children uttered the lies he has fabricated endlessly throughout the years.  Sometimes I will be questioned about his side of the story, and I reply that I cannot answer, as I never know what he is going to say, as his accusations often change, and are always untrue.  It is difficult to determine if he really believes what he says, or if he is internally gloating as to the way he has manipulated and brainwashed my children.  Another part of me wonders why I am so important to him that he has carried out this constant alienation since our 1997 divorce.  He did not find himself homeless.  He did not lose his job.  He did not have to pay child support.  He was already in another relationship.  He did, however, lose me.  I guess that was enough to anger him and vent his anger to the children.  They would tell me, “Dad says he cannot stand the sight of you.”  Or when I was pregnant, they would repeat the sickening utterances from their future stepmother, “Mariann says that the baby is going to be born blind and deaf.”     

Trying to justify the lack of importance of forgiveness is unnecessary, as these are two soulless people and beyond repentance.  I do not know much about Mariann’s religious upbringing, only the fact she brashly ignored many of the Ten Commandments and brazenly flaunted her marital indiscretions.  My ex was raised by his adopted Jewish family.  As his birth mother was Jewish as well, he was recognized as a member of the tribe.  But, as a narcissist, he could never fit in with the Jewish community.  As a narcissist, he wanted to be viewed as omnipotent, but Jews believe there is only one God.  Catholics believe in the trinity, not the quartet.       

So he had to find other individuals who would treat him as a God, as the leader of their pathetic little group.  He fit in by being the one with the best weed, the one with the cocaine, the most successful fornicator, and the daring rule breaker.  He laughed off every indiscretion, every arrest, and every discarded woman.  He found his mass love outside of the societal norms.  Still, the nagging knowledge that he was not renowned within the Jewish community became a personal affront, so he would mock the Jewish faith.  He could not respect the religion that would not view him as a leader, and would go against each tradition as retaliation.  Marrying a woman who embraced her Judaism, enabled him to often taunt and devalue the traditional beliefs, raising him to the standards he considered higher, and more important. When he mocked his religious and its values, it made him feel as if he was on a larger playing field, and above those who followed an organized religion. 

It seems as if an individual with outspoken sacrilegious actions, belief and words, and motivated with bad intent should be met with swift and complete punishment.  But it appears that God has a bigger plan.  Upon the day we are finally judged, I do not believe forgiveness will be shown.  I do not believe I will share my eternity in the same place as my ex.  A narcissist finds it hellish when people do not put him in a position of power, and do not listen with rapt attention to his words, or laugh at his pathetic attempts at humor.  Hell for a narcissist is a room where the audience is bored with his performance.  Hell is a lack of attention and applause, and perhaps even leaving the narcissist to perform in agonizing solitude.  Something about that vision is deliciously just and almost worth a peek.  But I have already walked out on that show.

PARENTAL ALIENATION: Just because YOU were a failure as a spouse doesn’t make ME a failure as a parent.

I was a good mother. I cherished my role.  Even from the very beginning my nurturing abilities were instinctive.  I nursed my children instead of giving them formula.  I prepared their first meals with natural ingredients in my food processor.  I took them on daily outings.  As babies and toddlers, they enjoyed weekly playgroups.  Their medical and dental care was always up-to-date.  They were always bathed and dressed in freshly laundered clothing.  There was nothing they lacked, except for paternal interaction. 

Their father frequently proclaimed that because he worked during the day, he should not have to take care of the children.  He considered them “work”, and announced their activities “boring”.  His life centered on his job, getting high with his friends, spending time on his boat, dalliances with other women and his drug dealings.  His choice of lifestyle greatly conflicted on my family values.  I always believed that family came first.  I always anticipated dinners, activities and outings with my family.  Instead, I had solitary meals with my children.  I had no access to money, so our activities were limited to my creativity.  Everything in my life was controlled by my husband’s rules and temper.  I bore the brunt of his anger, but my sons were victim as well.  They wore the marks of his beating, and endured the scars of his harsh threats.  I was too frightened to call the police, as I felt it was my fault for my inability to stop his attack on my sons, and feared he would next turn his anger on my 2 year old daughter, and surely killed her.  I thought I would be punished for his abuse and lose custody of my children.      

Night after night, I would pray for a way to be rescued.  I found my escape in the form of an inheritance from my great uncle.  Having my own money meant freedom, and I eventually used every penny to leave and hire a divorce attorney.  Life without him meant peace.  My heart palpitations stopped, as did my stress.  I viewed my lifestyle changes and going back to work as a small price to pay for being able to breathe again.  I had no anger toward my ex husband; I merely did not want him as a life partner.      

The fact I filed for divorce meant much more to him than the dissolution of a marriage.  Divorce meant he had failed as a husband and a father.  To view it that dramatically was not unusual for a man who met all the components of narcissistic personality disorder and antisocial personality disorder.  It is not uncommon for two personality disorders to merge, but when they do, it makes for an extremely dangerous individual.  The narcissistic sociopath believes the world revolves around him, is concerned with only his needs, feels societal rules do not apply to him, and has no empathy toward others.  Severing a relationship with a narcissistic sociopath, creates a reaction that is severe and retaliation that is cruel.  They are incredulous that someone would leave someone as wonderful as he believes himself to be, and evokes the need to prove to the world that she is actually the crazy person. 

Despite his years of disinterest in the children, he filed for custody.  Serving as his accomplice was a woman chosen solely for her willingness to obey his directions and provide childcare, so he would not have to alter his lifestyle.  Along with his lawyer who had previous sanctions for unethical practices in custody cases, he was prepared to implement his punishment to the mother of his children for ending the marriage.

It seemed impossible that a judge would actually award custody to this man, yet, by using her unscrupulous tactics, his attorney was able to find a judge who changed the custody.  It did not matter that he had a criminal record, was a drug dealer, and batterer.  He denied everything – even the submitted pictures of his fingerprints on my neck after he strangled me; and appallingly he was awarded sole physical and legal custody.  

I was granted liberal visitation, and did not have to pay child support.  Although heartbroken from the unfairness, I continued to parent successfully, becoming extremely resourceful in juggling my meager salary to provide a loving lifestyle for my children.  I rallied and began to experience many positive changes.  But each happy occurrence was like a thorn in the side of my ex husband, causing him to retaliate in some cruel ways, usually to the detriment of the children.  He did not allow them to bring clothing or toys to my home, he stopped their medical and dental care, and he cut off my daughter’s long hair.  Each joyful event in my life was punctuated with another malicious deed, even a physical attack when I was pregnant with my new husband’s baby.     

But anything he did or said could not erase my children’s memories of the loving mother that used to tuck them into bed each night.  So, my ex had to take more drastic steps.  He filed false criminal charges against me, and brought an ex-parte motion into court on my birthday to halt my visits; resulting in the outcome he desired, lasting more than four childless years, based on a lie.  During that time, he would show court documents to my children and tell them, “Your mother did something very bad”, tainting their memories.

After years of fighting the judicial system, I was reunited with three strangers, who had become teenagers during the lost years.  Although parts of their memories were unblemished, their father had created doubts.  Despite the loving thoughts that may have sustained them during those vacant years, reservations were thrown into their young minds creating confusion of what they really remembered. 

As we slowly began to rebuild a relationship, my ex requested we forget the past and start fresh.  Agreeing for the sake of the children, I should have realized that he had not changed.  He still viewed each positive change in my life as a dagger of his own defeat.  The more the children enjoyed time with me and their younger sister became the trigger my ex needed to build upon the chain of maternal negativity he had been creating for years.  And this time it had to be final.

He used every method of negating anything I did for them, as well as taunting them that I only cared about my youngest daughter and spent all my money on her without revealing she received monthly stipends from her late father.  One by one, they broke off communication with me.  They would never reveal why they were doing so.  Any calls, letters or e-mails were ignored.  My final attempt was an e-mail I sent informing them that their only biological grandparent had passed away.  My sons ignored the news, but my older daughter, who had once written a note to me in crayon stating she wanted to live with me every day of the week and not just weekends, sent a cruel message indicating that she did not feel it was important to go to her grandmother’s funeral because the relationship she had with her “wasn’t pleasant”.  Despite my attempt to inform her that attending a funeral was to support the living, her responses were bitter, unbending, and gloating of her “wonderful life” with her father. 

I can only feel pity for three children whose memories have been replaced by bogus horror stories fed to them since childhood.  I can feel sadness that they have been raised by someone seeking vengeance rather than offering love.  My ex has not changed his ways.  His lifestyle still revolves around himself and his desires.  In contrast, my youngest daughter has enjoyed the benefits of being raised with unselfish love.  She attended private school, summer camp and has traveled to Israel.  Her medical and dental care is up-to-date, and she has embraced her religion.  She has grown up with all the traditional support and values celebrated within wholesome family environments. 

In predicting the future of my alienated children, I fear they will be faced with a myriad of problems and obstacles.  From behaviors I have witnessed, I see years of counseling.  Should they choose to seek answers, it will mean looking at themselves and their past, something that many people are too frightened to learn.  Maybe they will then turn to me for answers.  I hope that the truth will bring some clarity to them and dredge up the memories of the mother who cared for them, and the father who was seldom there.  I hope they will come to their own conclusions; for if they chose to alienate their father, it will be of their own decision, and desire to erase the demon of their past.

Pity

As a writer, sometimes, it is a challenge to decide what word best suits the emotion you are trying to express.  My writing often revolves around topics that evoke a variety of sentiments.  I love the thesaurus.  I love finding alternate ways to describe something.  Often, although the meaning is similar, the words bear a slightly different tone.  Recently, I looked up the word pity, and found many synonyms: shame, disappointment, misfortune, sympathy, and compassion.  These words mean the same thing, but each word has a different flavor. 

For example:  A glamorous Hollywood movie star recently underwent a double mastectomy to prohibit the growth of the cancer cells her medical history dictated.  As a high risk woman she opted to take somewhat drastic precautions to avoid the disease. I have compassion and sympathy for a surely difficult decision, but I also have admiration for her bravery.  Pity is not a word I would use in connection with Angelina Jolie, for she is a survivor.

Heinous crimes are always in the forefront of our news.  The most recent one is the Jodi Arias trial who received a Murder One verdict for the heinous murder of her former boyfriend Travis Alexander.  When the jury could not reach a decision regarding the death penalty, Travis’s family broke down in tears.  Watching them, I felt empathy that justice had not been given that day.  My heart ached for them and for their pain.  Pity is not a word I would use in connection with the siblings of Travis Alexander, for they are survivors.

Pity is a word used for situations that appear to be unchangeable.  Pity is used for those in a downward spiral, or stuck in their circumstances, stagnant, and unable to find the strength to question, move or rectify.  I would use the word pity for the starving children of the infomercials, living in horrible conditions.  Pity is induced toward the suffering victims of handicaps or deformities.  Pity is also called to mind for children of hostile aggressive parenting or parental alienation.  This behavior is not visible like the Save The Children infomercials.  This is a secretive occurrence that happens behind closed doors, hiding the atmosphere of revenge, and the methods used to prompt the children to hate.  One can only have pity for them at the unfairness of being estranged from a loving parent, and being betrayed by their other parent, who is selfishly utilizing his own anger to promote revenge.  What a horrible childhood it must be when the one person you trust is lying just because they are angry that their former spouse who wanted a divorce.  My three oldest children have the misfortune to be such victims.  They were exposed to continuous vitriolic verbiage since a very young age.  If they did not hear it from their father, they would hear it from their step-mother, who was equally misguided and cruel.

This was confirmed years ago when the nine-year old seated beside me at the ballet school, questioned my identity after seeing my daughter wave to me from her dance class.  After I told her I was Arielle’s mother, she stated, “Oh.  I’ve heard all about you!”  She was the niece of my daughter’s step-mother.  Why would a 9 year old be privy to any conversation about me?  My ex was constantly spewing evil, and I wondered what was going on in that house that allowed young children to hear, and easy remember his sordid words.  It was happening in a house where the secrets were concealed.                  

To date, my three oldest children (now 21, 22, and 24) are fully alienated by their father’s cruel ways.  Nevertheless, they have been continuously feeding his narcissistic supply, as he is the money giver.  Regardless of what he does, they worship him.  They have no sense of speculation.  They have no questions regarding his gleeful slander.  He has erased any reasoning abilities from their minds.  They are, in a sense, malleable puppets, on this earth to do the bidding of a malicious sociopath.  Pitiable.   

Maybe someday they’ll return to me with questions or regret.  I do not know that answer nor can I be consumed with these young adults whose emotions are impenetrable, hardened and mean.  I can only concentrate on making a wonderful life for my youngest daughter.  Sometimes, I have flashes of thoughts about my oldest children, yet all I feel is intense pity for three individuals whose future relationships will undoubtedly be bleak.  Unless they can start to realize that healthy people do not encourage their children to hate, based on lies, then the cycle of being a pitiful individual will continue.  Personally, I would rather be known for my strength as a survivor, than pitied for remaining a victim.  

Yard Sale

Today I had a yard sale.  Being very analytical, I debated over each detail – when should I hang the signs?  The day before, or the morning of my sale?  And where?  And how large did they need to be?  Tape or nails?  Should I post pictures online of the items I was selling?  Should I run the ad in other publications?  Should I bring a sign to the location of other yard sales in the area – so perhaps they can send their customers to my house once they’re finished.  I know I can make myself a little meshugana worrying about silly points – but I like knowing I put 100% effort in each endeavor.  I was so worried about this yard sale, as it seems like such a new and foreign event to plan…..until, for some reason, I remembered another yard sale I hosted…17 years ago.

I was moving out of the house in Newton.  How naïve I had been in believing that my ex husband was going to buy another house after renting for a year – in an attempt to alleviate his non-payment of taxes for over 10 years.  He had sworn he would never live in Newton – only because he knew that’s where I wanted to live and raise my children.  He had to be the decision maker…as well as coming up with the original idea.  How stupid was it to agree to live in a rental house for 1 year, just prior to going on the market?  But, we all make mistakes….and we all digress…..

 At that time, all yard sales ads were printed in local newspapers.  My ex was living with his mistress in her house and I was planning on moving further North with the children, which was closer to my new job.   He never read the paper, but he relied on his source of information from my (former) best friend.  They had an ongoing affair and she reported everything I was doing or planning.  So, it should have come as no surprise when midday during my yard sale, he pulled up in his Toyota 4-Runner and screamed out the window, “You can’t have this sale!  You’re selling marital assets!” 

Ironically, there was a woman there chatting with my mother, who was helping out.  The woman looked up when she heard the yelling.  “Who is that?....He looks familiar…”  My mother told her who he was, as the woman happened to be a former teacher at Needham High School.  Upon hearing his name, the woman nodded her head.  “Yes, I remember him.  He was extremely problematic.  Your daughter is lucky to be away from him.” 

The event was actually something I later laughed about.  On drives with friends, if we saw a yard sale, we’d yell out the windows, “Get away from those marital assets!” and then burst into laughter.  It never ceases to amaze me that the more I learn and reflect on the characteristics of a scorned narcissistic sociopath, the luckier I feel to be free.

Today, my yard sale was not as successful as I would have liked, but it was a start in unloading some unwanted items.  It was a quiet and peaceful day with no unwarranted interruptions from a crazy man yelling at me from his window.  But, I had already unloaded that unwanted item 17 years ago.  

The Bunny Hop

Within the past few years, there has been an overabundance of rabbit sightings.  Almost everyone I know have told me about the bunches of bunnies they see in their yards.  Everyone seems to love bunnies.  Of course, they are so cute, hopping through the grass, or just sitting with their little noses twitching.  These small mammals seem to be the perfect pet for someone who does not want to walk a dog or change cat litter.  I do not mind the latter, so I never entertained the thought of acquiring a rabbit as a pet.   But the emergence of these cute little animals hopping through the yards reminded of the time my children begged me for a bunny.

“Can we get one mom, please?”  The children were begging me to buy the bunny for sale at a country fair.  I was torn between wanting to please them, and disappointment.  I wondered how my children’s father would feel about having a docile, pet that required little care in comparison to a dog or a cat.  I remembered his reaction years ago when I suggested getting a dog as a pet for the children.  

 “Okay,” he had said; then added, “but I want an aggressive breed – not a stupid terrier like your mother has!”  Wow…there was SO much wrong in his answer.  In suggesting a pet for my children, I had assumed he understood that we would get a breed that would be gentle with children.  I did not have my heart set on a particular breed, but I did wish for certain traits.  Aggression was not one of them.  And with that, our discussion ended.

Now faced with their pleas for a bunny, I wondered how he would react.  I decided to try to call him.  When he did not answer, I left a message and waited for a return call.  It was not unusual for him to ignore my call as he called only if he needed something from me.  Oddly, when picking up the children from a visit, he would greet them with fabricated concern, “I was so worried about you guys!” despite the absence of any check-in calls.  As a worried parent would have called, his comments were strictly to plant a seed of fear with the children.  Cruelly calculated, as he was smug in knowing he only had custody due to his attorney’s unethical behavior and my record was spotless.

“It will be fine with dad!”  The children assured me.  “He said we could have a pet!”  Really?  Well, his wife had an old cat.  So perhaps he was ready to introduce a new pet, prior to the inevitable death of the cat.  And it was only a small rabbit that lived in a cage.  So, against my better judgment, I bought them the bunny and the cage.  I stress it was against my better judgment.  However, when a good mother is victimized by her batterer within court, and loses custody inexplicably, she tends to over compensate to her children’s wishes. 

On the ride home, the children talked excitedly about their new pet.  They debated about what to name her, and talked about the fun they had that day – the music, the hayrides and the food.   As we got closer to Natick, their demeanor began to change.  Their chatter had stopped.  Their voices were no longer enthusiastic.  They sounded strained and nervous.  When we got to the house, they were downright frightened.  Halfheartedly, they took the caged little bunny and closed my car door.  Suddenly, their father ran out of the house.  “Give that back to her!  You can’t have that here!” 

The children started screaming, “You said we could get a bunny!”      

“I’ll get it for you, not HER!” he shouted.  Turning to me, he snarled, “You better take that with you.”

Reasonably, I said, “I left you a message and you never called me back. But if you do not want it, let me know tomorrow and I will find a home for it.”

My ex, a narcissistic sociopath was selfish to a fault, often cruel, and lacking empathy for anyone but himself.  He could not listen or accept reason as he was the one who had to make the decision or have the final say.  But, at the moment, he was stuck.  “YOU can’t just get them a pet without my approval.  I am the one in charge of everything.” He declared pompously, in an attempt to let me know that he relished in being allowed to have some control over me. 

Sweetly I replied, “I will find the bunny a home.  Now, I have to run because I have a date.”  And I drove off.  My last comment was like sticking a knife in his gut.  I could not resist because the thought of me with another man made him livid.  I knew I was risking some sort of retaliation, but for the moment, the look on his face was priceless.

I called the children before I went out that evening.  I wanted to make certain they were safe, and their father did not take his anger out on them.  They gleefully told me that their step sister had a friend who had several pet bunnies and welcomed one more.  Their voices reflected the relief that they would not have to bear the burden of their father’s anger. 

At least for that night.