Following is an excerpt from my book, Reconciliation, A Son’s Story.
In my toxic home culture, survival was the name of the game. It was like being in a foxhole all the time, or as my Dad would say sometimes, “it was battle stations practically all the time” when he was at sea fighting in the Asiatic Pacific Theater. Consequently, one could conclude that inter-generational PTSD could be acquired through simulation of a “battle stations” condition at home as a child. We were in a constant state of fear. Anxious about when Dad would go off, or when Mother would freak out. A normal position at home when Dad walked by was defensive in terms of putting arms and hands over heads for protection of a potential blow that might come out of nowhere. My brothers and I had to be ready for anything all the time, morning, noon, or night. Moments of tranquility came when we were alone in the house when the parents were not there.
