In case you doubted what a monster father is really like
The complete recording:
Cliche phrase? Maybe, but Kent State was a “defining moment” for anyone over 12 years old.
You can be killed for standing up against the war. No one will give a shit, and the person that killed you gets to walk away and laugh. Consider that–a brother or sister is dead and there’s no closure.
The only difference here was the media took notice and held it to the light. Hey, look America, we’re murdering our children. Like I felt in ’68–these were MY people. A few years older, but it could’ve been me.
But some just sneered, like the old man.
They deserved to die. Why? Because they were marching against the war, and they knew armed Guard was there. You march, take the consequences.
Well, no daddy-o, they were actually far from the marchers.
Doesn’t matter, he yelled. They didn’t have the sense to stay home. Why would anyone with brains go outside when there are armed Guarders nearby? Just stupid teenagers.
And then, This Gem:
“Look at those parents! Crying and sobbing, looking for pity! News media giving them all this attention. Don’t they know that no one cares one bit about their dead kid?? No one pities them–not one person!! Because they raised a kid too stupid to stay inside. They have no shame–no one in America wants to hear what they have to say. Just pathetic.”
I leave the room. Mom whispers to me, “He’d be different if you were shot.” I cover my mouth to keep him from hearing laughter. Only if he could somehow parlay my death into a chance to kiss Nixon’s feet, I thought.
The ensuing years kept the same tempo–cursing marchers on TV, applauding scenes of kids getting their heads busted.
Aren’t parents wonderful role models? I felt so ashamed to live under that roof.
The irony here was he once said to me, “You know, I hated bringing friends or girls home to meet my parents, I was so ashamed of my father the drunk. You’ll never have to worry about that with me. Never feel ashamed.”