Hi Anita,
The ice cream was love. When we were together, every Friday and Saturday night we would make ice cream cones and bring them into bed, propped up, just chatting or watching tv. I don’t do that now, it was our thing, not my thing.
He did tell his story about his 2 brothers in a no big deal manner. Also, he told stories of when he was very young (3, maybe 4 years old) of being very attached to his father and always following him around, holding onto his pants with his hand. One story in particular sticks out. His dad was fixing a car tire; he was holding onto his pant leg as usual. It was winter, and his one brother threw a snowball at him and it hit him in the face. He started to cry and his father smacked him saying “Stop your whining.” (not realizing why he was crying) Which, of course, made him cry more. He lost that closeness with his father as he grew, and didn’t get it back again until his father was elderly (80’s). His dad passed away in 2014.
As a fixer, I wish I could do something, but I would listen to him and hold his hand. It’s all I could do. The stories never seemed upsetting to him, but they were upsetting to me. My childhood was so much different. I was never hit by my parents, and in turn, my siblings and I never hit each other.
Katie
Though I run this site, it is not mine. It's ours. It's not about me. It's about us. Your stories and your wisdom are just as meaningful as mine. 