The Man Who Raised Me: What Was Not Said

By Cliff Potts
Bay Bay City, Leyte, Philippines — July 9, 2026

This is a serialized installment from the autobiography of Cliff Potts.

The Facts of Life

He never gave me the talk.

I learned what I needed to know from school and from friends. Once, I overheard him say that girls needed instruction about sex, but boys did not. When I asked him what VD was, he said, “It’s a disease you shouldn’t have.”

The conversation ended there.

Sex in our house existed indirectly — a Playboy Club membership card, Doc Savage novels, Executioner paperbacks, magazines with portions obscured in black ink.

Sex and violence were acceptable in fiction.

Vulnerability between father and son was not.

The Scar

He had a three-inch scar under his left breast.

When I asked how he got it, he said, “Some son of a bitch tried to kill me.”

That was all.

Acknowledgment without explanation.

I never learned more. The scar remained a fact without context.

Love, Spoken Once

In my memory, he told me he loved me once.

I was twenty-five, living in San Francisco, and my life was unraveling. I called home and asked if I could return.

He said yes.

I said, “Dad, I love you.”

He laughed lightly and said, “Well, I love you, too.”

That is the only time I recall hearing it.

One sentence.

Delivered carefully, as if emotion required moderation.