We don’t really have a great relationship…but I’m okay with that. I’m okay with that, but it’s also a little frustrating because we have had a good relationship at one point.
It’s difficult to think, you know, how much do I owe my parents? What should I—what should I give up for them? I still haven’t resolved it…on the one hand, he gave me something in my childhood that nobody else could. But on the other, I don’t think I’m equipped to be able to help him the way he needs help.
You know, “why can’t you have the time for me?” and “why don’t you care enough not to be drunk around me?” Like…”do you realize how much your actions have warped my life?” Like…”just what makes you think you can throw a little girl down the stairs?” Like, “what makes you think you can do any of what you did?” Just…mainly just wanted to know what was in his head. What his reasoning for all of it was.
They always seem to want to redeem him, you know, try to like make him into someone I do want to get to know. But it only makes it worse, and I think they fail to realize that.
When anybody says like, asks me questions about my “mommy and daddy” or my “mom and dad” or “your parents,” plural, it just makes me feel funny inside just cuz it makes me feel like people are ignorant, a little bit, and they don’t realize how many single parents there are…
His absence was just as formative as his presence. And it’s just…it’s so forced.
What is there to say for a guy who’s never around, who you’ve talked to maybe three times, and your only memory is a horrible one from when you were a little kid? There’s not much to say.
The most heart-wrenching thing for me is that it was my father’s decision. That my mother said please don’t, I will never talk about my feelings again if you just won’t leave me.
But that name is obviously not the same name of the guy that I grew up with.
You feel like if you have a biological parent they would want to get to know who their children are? It’s so impersonal, like even though the minimal contact that he makes is so impersonal that I wish he didn’t make it at all.
From an early age, I was not able to dream in the same ways or to think about life in such a positive way as many of the kids that were just thinking about cartoons. Like very early on, I realized that my parents were not a source of protection. Very early on, I realized my parents were not perfect.
I rather he die than I say any of the things I thought about him. Because I don’t want to–I feel like it’s too late for him anyway, you know, like there’s no reform. So I might as well let him just, like, die with the thought that perhaps his kids don’t hate him.