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Summary: Father’s who allow anger to take control of their minds will stop expressing love to those closest to them. Why, because the emotion of uncontrolled anger turns to rage and drives out the emotion and presence of love.

“A Father’s Love Vs a Father’s Rage”

Opening Video Illustration: BluefishTV: “A father’s love”

THEY NEED A FATHER - Children need a Father’s Love

... “almost 75 percent of American children living in fatherless households will experience poverty before the age of eleven, compared to only 20 percent of those raised by two parents. Children living in homes where fathers are absent are far more likely to be expelled from or drop out of school, develop emotional or behavioral problems, commit suicide, and fall victim to child abuse or neglect. The males are also far more likely to become violent criminals. As a matter of fact, men who grew up without dads currently represent 70 percent of the prison population serving long-term sentences.”

SOURCE: Michael G. Moriarty, The Perfect 10: The Blessings of Following God’s Commandments in a Post Modern World, p. 113

These sad statistics cry to us of the importance of a “Father’s Love.”

Our world had set out to trivialize a “Father’s love.” The feminist say the kids don’t need it, the liberals claim we don’t need it. But the truth is we all crave hunger for a father’s love.

Thesis: Father’s who allow anger to take control of their minds will stop expressing love to those closest to them. Why, because the emotion of uncontrolled anger turns to rage and drives out the emotion and presence of love.

My own story: “A Father’s Rage”

My dad was an absentee father the majority of the time. He worked 12 hours a day to provide financially for us as kids. He did teach me the value of hard work. But far too often when he was around we experienced a angry father, an enraged father. He had a temper that would explode at the drop of pin. We all walked on egg shells around him especially my mom. He was like Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde. He could transform quickly into an very ugly individual who was brutal, verbally, physically abusive. I would say my mom suffered the most from his abusive ways. She tried very hard to shield us from his wrath and anger. When he came home we were either in bed or leaving the house because we wanted nothing to do with his anger.

I recall a time in my life when I was 11 and my dad was once again beating up my mother and I stepped in to stop the brutality. He had at previous times beaten my mom so bad that she needed hospital treatment. I yelled at him from the top of the stairs to leave her alone. I remember his look of rage at me for confronting him. He pounced up the stairs toward me like a wild ape. He grabbed me by my throat, picked me up and threw me down the hall into the wall. I suffered the wrath of his anger that day but I did stop him from beating up my mom again. I still recall the fear!

He left that night and the next day my mom was talking to my uncle as she cried about his brutality to me and his words to me. That night as he hurled me down the hall he said something that cut my heart wide open. He screamed “You are not my son you ________________!” He reiterated in his fit of rage that I did not belong to him and I was not his child because my mother was a _______________! He told me she had an affair and I belonged to other ___________________!” The physical pain was less traumatic than the scorching words from him that night! I recall crying with my mom that day and my uncle Jim telling me over the phone that he would be my father!

Wow! It still hurts – the rejection of a father’s love. I must admit something happened that day to me. The lack of a father’s love drove me to become an anger filled teenager. Shortly after this beating I took up the martial arts and began weight lifting so that one day I could protect my mom and beat my dad to a pulp like he did my mom. My heart turned bitter and angry. The anger I had toward him turned to bitterness and rage. I started getting into fights and letting my temper control my actions and reactions to life. Over the next few years I grew stronger and nastier. My heart was broken – my heart was torn – my heart was wounded. My dad and I tried to make amends but it did not last long. At 15 we got into another fight after he was going after my mom again. This time I was stronger and bigger and we fist fought all over the house, it was a all out brawl, over top of things and finally after he was starting to lose from my kicks and punches - he picked up a ceramic vase and smashed it into my head leaving the scar you now see. I fell to the ground dazed and foggy. Lying there on the floor with blood running down my face, I saw his foot next to the old style telephone, so I grabbed the phone and slammed it in to his foot breaking one of his toes. Things are foggy after that – the next thing I recall is my mom rushing me to the hospital in the car to stop the blood from flowing out of my forehead. The doctor asked me what happen so I told him. He said he most likely would not report the incident but I should not go home. So my mom took me to my uncles were it ended up my dad already was. He came out after me again and threatened to finish what he started. We left! But once again that anger and rage that he had had now taken root deep into my heart and mind. He moved out at that time for a few months but eventually came back home. I just trained harder and learned to fight better becoming know at my dojo as “Chui!” Which means, “Penalty point.” I got the name because when I fought against other opponents and started to lose I would do illegal things to hurt them. I was driven by anger and rage. Every opponent I pictured as my dad and the bitterness grew deeper. At 17 we got into another fight this time I was at my prime and top shape and a top fighter. He challenged to a fight over something trivial and threatened to finish what he started when I was 15. I saw red, anger exploded through me. I jumped over the coffee table and started punching him. He got up and I pinned him against the wall, driving furious fist into his ribs. This is the first time I ever saw fear in my dad’s eyes. He knew I was trying to kill him and the truth be told I was. My brothers and a few friends pulled me off my dad. He called the police and I kept trying to go after him. He was hurt I could tell and I relished that he was getting what he deserved. The police made me leave or they would arrest me so I left. Anger and rage filled my heart – I wanted his head – I wanted to inflict pain on him. Now I realized that I became everything I said I would never become. I acted and behaved like my father. A man filled with no love just anger.

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