According to my Dad’s account of wedded bliss, it wasn’t so blissful. Dad and Sylvia (don’t remember ever calling her mom) were frequently in conflict. Dad tells me that Sylvia always wanted to be near him, to kiss him, to be on his lap, etc. She would tug at him tearfully when he was leaving, pleading with him to stay home with her.
The one memory I do have sprang forth one evening as I was “meditating” myself to sleep. I was just about to hit the switch in my brain to “turn off” and bam, this mini video flashed in my brain. I don’t know who picked me up and who put me back in the crib, but I do sense the anger. I was pulled out of one person’s arms and set back into the crib and then Dad smacked my mother so hard she went reeling across the room.
It was like I was re-experiencing the entire event, so naturally I was extremely distraught with healthy doses of “I’ve lost my mind” dancing through my head. I called my Dad to ask him about this and his immediate reply was “what the hell does it matter what happened twenty-five years ago”. It mattered!
Three to six months later Dad confirmed that this happened not once, but several times.