I have been a men’s mental health practitioner since November 21, 1969, when I held my newborn son and vowed to be a different father than my father could be to me and to do what I could to improve my mental situation. , emotional and relational lives of men and their families. Along the way I earned a Master of Social Work (MSW), a PhD in International Health and wrote 17 books, including Looking for love in all the wrong places: Overcoming romantic and sexual addictions and The Irritable Man Syndrome: Understanding and Managing the 4 Root Causes of Depression and Aggression. These are the lessons I’ve learned along the way.
You can read Part 1, “Where I Come From: My Origin Story” here.
Part 2
The day my uncle drove me to the Psychiatric Hospital
I was five years old when my uncle took me to the mental hospital. I was confused and scared.
“Why do I have to leave?” I asked Uncle Harry.
He looked at me with his round face and kind eyes. “Your father needs you.”
“What’s wrong with him?” I started crying and clutched my throat to stop the tears.
He turned away and looked back at the road. In our family we didn’t talk about difficult subjects. I knew my father was in hospital and it was my duty to visit him. It never occurred to me to ask why my mother didn’t come to visit. I just knew I was her “brave little man.”
In my five-year-old mind I thought my uncle was taking me to a hospital that dealt with accidents, cuts and bruises. I had my blanket with me that I brought everywhere. I rubbed my cheek against the soft cotton and repeated over and over in my head, you are safe and sound. You are safe and sound. I talked to the monkey, my little puppet, as Uncle Harry drove. “Dad will be fine” I told him. “He’s just got a few cuts on his head like I had when I fell down chasing my dog.” Monkey agreed with me.
It was 1949, and the drive from our home in the San Fernando Valley to Camarillo State Hospital took more than two hours, although the distance was less than fifty miles. I looked out the window and imagined flying over citrus groves that stretched for miles as we drove along Ventura Blvd. Harry called out the names of the towns as we walked through them – Encino, Tarzana, Calabasas. I liked the sound of the names and imagined them as kingdoms in faraway lands where I slayed dragons and rescued damsels in distress.
We passed through a tunnel of trees and I felt a chill run down my spine. Uncle Harry yelled “Camarillo.” He seemed happy that we had reached our destination, but I began to tremble. I pulled my blanket over my head. I thought of my father and imagined his blue eyes dancing as he told stories about his adventures in New York when he was an actor.
As we drove up to the building, I felt calmer. Camarillo looked like one of the old California missions with palm trees in front and a big bell tower in the center with adobe buildings that had grass in front. But as we got closer, I saw the windows. They weren’t like our windows at home, but they had thick bars over them and were painted pink, like Pepto-Bismol.
When we walked in, I immediately wanted to go home. I tried to pull away and leave, but my uncle held my hand tightly and said we should go inside. “Your father wants to see you” he said in his quiet, soothing voice. I liked Uncle Harry. He was married to my father’s older sister, Sophie. He was a round-faced man with glasses and a receding hairline. He was always smiling, happy and optimistic.
People were everywhere and everyone was on the move. A man in a white hospital gown was circling, muttering to himself as he made strange finger gestures. A woman ran into the room shouting, “Don’t let them take me. Jesus, save me.” Two ushers grabbed her by the arms and led her out of the room. A group of men walked back and forth, talking, but not to each other. A gray-haired woman dressed in a long dress that was once blue, but had now faded to almost white, spun in circles and sang a sweet, sad song.
“Uncle Harry, please, let’s go home.” This place was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life and I was terrified.
“It’ll be alright,” Uncle Harry told me. But he looked scared.
I noticed my father in the back of the visiting room where we were told we could see him. He jumped up when he saw us. I wanted to go to him, but I held back. He seemed strange. His hair was messy. His clothes were hanging off him and he had a wild look in his eyes that I had never seen before. He walked up our street, picked me up and hugged me, but quickly put me down. He suggested we go for a “walk” on the grounds. I was glad to get out and his words calmed me down. We had often gone for walks in a park near our house and he often carried me on his shoulders.
My father took one hand and my uncle the other and we went out. We found a bench in a grassy area outside the hospital grounds. We sat side by side, my uncle, my father and me. I looked up at the palm trees, but turned back to him when my father asked: “How is your mother?”
“it’s ok” I told him. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to explain why he wasn’t here but I didn’t know. His attention quickly turned to my uncle.
“You have to get me out of here” my father pleaded. He reached out and grabbed Uncle Harry’s shoulder. “It’s a crazy house. I don’t belong here.”
“Well,” Uncle Harry tried to calm him down with his soft words and kind smile. “Doctors say you need some time to rest and recover. “I’ll talk to the doctors, I promise. Just calm down. I’m sure you’ll be gone soon.”
My uncle came to my father every Sunday and I went with him. Being an obedient son was something I learned early. Even at the age of five, I felt responsible for my parents. Although the story of why my father was in a mental hospital emerged slowly and was never discussed, I understood from listening to my mother and uncle talk that my father had a “nervous breakdown.” He had become increasingly angry and depressed because he could not support his family and was taking an overdose of sleeping pills.
In my child’s mind, I saw him as a failure because he couldn’t provide for his family and even failed to end his own life. Since I was the youngest family member on the scene, I thought I must have been the cause of his breakdown and suicide attempt. I felt it was my job to fix him.
I visited my father for fifty-two excruciating Sundays with Uncle Harry. I dreaded the tunnel of trees as we approached Camarillo and thought of the story of Alice in Wonderland.
“But I don’t want to go among madmen,” observed Alice.
“Oh, you can’t help it,” said the Cat: “We’re all mad here. i am crazy You are crazy.”
“How do you know I’m crazy?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
My father’s condition was getting worse and worse. He was given more drugs and more shock treatments until he didn’t seem to know who I was. The doctors told my mother that he would need treatment for the rest of his life. In my first act of rebellion against my role as an obedient son, I told my mother that I didn’t want to make any more Sunday drives to Camarillo to see my father. He agreed that I could stop going.
Life Lesson #3: When you don’t have answers to life’s problems, asking questions can be a lifesaver.
I think of Rilke Letters to a Young Poet:
“Be patient with what is unsolved in your heart, and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books now written in a very foreign language. Do not look now for the answers that cannot be given to you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Experience the questions now. Perhaps then gradually, without noticing it, you will live in some distant day in the answer.’
Life Lesson #4: Have the courage to ask questions even when you fear the answers you might get.
Here are the questions I struggled with?
- Is my father crazy?
- Why did they shut him down?
- Will the same happen to me?
- Will I want to kill myself?
- How can I be a man without a father to guide me?
I look forward to your questions and comments. We never stop learning. I will write more articles exploring these and other topics. You can register for free here:
