Another Part of Me

My family put the fun in dysfunctional. I honestly look back on my life and sometimes wonder how I am even sane. I am oftentimes a study in conflict, the reason probably being my parents. My mother was a devout Christian woman and my father was a drunken philanderer who hated me from the day I was born. No, seriously, he hated me. I know because he told me so when I was four years old. And I know that he meant it because he did not say it in anger. He said it as casually as most people say 'good morning'. And although most of me has long ceased to care why he felt that way, there is a part of me that will probably always wonder what, I, as a child, could possibly have done to deserve such active hatred. The logical part of my brain says that I did nothing wrong and that evidently he had his own demons to deal with. I can certainly understand that. (I have had my fair share as well.) But the other part (that darned sensitive, emotional part) says that no matter what he was going through he should never have done that.

I will, despite it all, thank my father for a couple of things. He gave me strength, he thickened my skin, he taught me how to deal with the most difficult people from a very early age (being that he was one of them) and it is because of him that I almost never drink. One beer will pretty much lay me out (cheap drunk huh?;-)). It is also because of him that I tell my children that I love them more than anything else in this world every single day. Because they need to hear it and they need to know it. It matters.

And who said dads weren't important?

Well, let me get off of my therapist's couch for now. (You'll catch a mean cramp if you stay on it for too long).

Peace all..