My father's temperament is altogether different from my mother's. He's much more private and discreet than my mother, and less authoritarian as well, perhaps less sure of himself in front of others, or at least more withdrawn. His wife is the authority. And I chink that's the bargain he has struck. She decides; he goes with the flow. She takes care ot the problems; he detests getting embroiled in them. She participates in anything that concerns the family; he flees dis­putes, conflicts. Too much, perhaps.

My father talks a lot, but most often he does this to entertain, to make people laugh, to make them forget their cares and worries. He's always been a master at turning everything into a joke. He doesn't want to see misery, misfortune, sadness, or suffering at home or at the homes of others. He hates going to hospitals, for example. Even when my mother and my sisters were giving birth, it was practically impossible to get him to visit them. But I believe that in most cases men just don't like these kinds of situations.

My father doesn't connect with others as easily as my mother. Even with his children—or with me, at any rate—he doesn't try to com­municate on intimate levels or to know what others are thinking or feeling. He just wants everybody to be happy. He always sees only the good side of things and people. He doesn't see, or he keeps him­self from seeing, the ugly side. For instance, I don't ever remember

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