A quick warning that this is an episode about war, so there will be some violence.

Plus some strong language.

I spent my childhood adoring and despising my father.

My father was Mercurial, warm and hilarious one moment.

Ice cold and angry the next.

My three siblings and I never knew when something we did or said would make him laugh or make

him explode.

But I loved my dad, even if he wasn't exactly the dad I wanted.

I wanted the dad who'd pricing me dressed up for my first high school dance.

Not one who'd keep watching TV as I asked how I looked and reply without even looking,

he looked like a freak.

But when my date showed up in sneakers and a polo instead of semi-formal attire, my

dad went upstairs, grabbed a shirt, a tie and proper shoes, and tried to force my date

to wear his clothes.

After I graduated from college, I was back home for a few weeks before moving to New York.

My dad had been a storm cloud all day.

Stalking around the house in a foul mood, ignoring me, his precious daughter was about

to leave for the big city.

And on this day, I had had enough.

And I told him that.

I told him I was sick of him being like this.

He was ruining my time at home.

...