Where once he had told me about the Jewish ritual practice of the bar mitzvah, he was largely MIA as I studied for mine. My mother toiled with all the financial and logistical preparations. Ultimately, he snuck into the synagogue and heard me daven. But he quietly absented himself from the party.
Source: Seth Gitell, “America’s Best: Raised By A Green Beret With PTSD” (HuffPost)