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I wanted to please and placate him, because as long as Daddio was laughing and smiling, I believed , we would be safe. I was the entertainer in the family. I wanted to keep everything light and fun and joyful. And while this psychological response would later bear artistic and financial fruits, it also meant that my little nine year old brain processed Daddio's abusive episodes as somehow being my fault.
As much as we all suffered under Daddio's militaristic views of love and family,nobody suffered more than my mother. If two people being in charge meant everybody dies,then that meant my mother could never be in charge.
The problem was that my mother wasn't the type of woman to be commanded. She was educated,proud,stubborn and as much as we begged her to please be quiet ,she refused.
Once,when Daddio slapped her, she egged him on.
"Oh,you're such a man! You think that hitting a woman makes you a man,huh?"
He hit her again, knocking her to the ground.
She stood right back up,looked him in the eye,and calmly said, "Hit me all you want ,but you can never hurt me."
I have never forgotten that. The idea that he could hit her body but somehow she was in control of what "hurt" her? I wanted to be strong like that.