To what extent are children aware of the impact of early events of their lives on their adult behavior?

I think most people, I hate to talk for most people, but generally speaking, people don't sit around reflecting on the connection between their past and their present. One of the striking things about this whole group [in my study] is that they were angry, but they were also very compassionate with parents that they thought had had a very hard time. They didn't point a finger and say their parents were terrible people and they didn't care about them.

The memories of their early experiences tend to fade except where there was violence -- those remain etched. I'm in this unique position of having the record of what happened, so I know when a woman of 30 says to me, "I remember Dad coming into the living room with a loaded gun," I've got it; I've got the fact that the police were called, that the father was arrested. And if she says, "I don't remember consciously, but I dream about this, and it's a nightmare for me twice a week," obviously the memory has persisted.

One reason I wrote the book is to help these people, who represent one-quarter of our adult population, who have divorced parents make the connections that I think will help them diminish some of their struggles. Like the feeling "I can't trust anybody," or "Even if I trust somebody, I can't trust them completely." They realize this is not something they're alone with. It's widely shared. I think it will help.

The other issue that I came across so unexpectedly -- I call it the second-shoe syndrome -- is one that is useful to deal with for adult children of divorced parents. They often have this syndrome that is described as "Whenever I'm happy, I'm afraid it's going to vanish." This is not just people in the study. I get letters from people all over the country, from children of divorce, who say they are married and have wonderful spouses and children and, they say, "Every night when I go to sleep I am afraid when I wake up in the morning, they'll be gone."

This is a widespread experience and very serious because then you are scared to be happy and it's terrible to go through life that way. It is a post-traumatic symptom of having their home vanish as children. I think if people know this experience is widely shared, it will help them.

When you mention your discovery of the tendency of people to go to "lyrical heights" when someone is finally listening, can we also assume that in your interviews there is some wish to please or to dramatize events for purposes of pleasing or impressing the interviewer?

You know, that is a hard question because whatever method you use, it has certain advantages and disadvantages. What we finally learned is that any time you study anything, you change it in some way. How much it changes, I don't know.

I saw these young people once every five years. I would really have to be very omnipotent in my own fantasies about my influence to think that the one visit every five years was a major influence on their lives. Whether they talked to please me -- probably as adolescents they did. On the other hand, later on, as they grew into their 20s, they also said, "You know, during that whole interview with you five years ago, I was high as a kite."

They may have had flights of fantasy, but I was taken aback by their honesty. It isn't only that they were so eloquent, it's that they were also so hard-hitting. Like that young man, Larry, who says, "All I learned from my dad is how not to be a father." I was taken aback. That's not eloquence, but if a playwright wrote that, he'd be happy.

I think they meant what they said. I think they said things strongly, but I think they felt them strongly.

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