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.
I technically do have him there for me, and he was there, I guess, some of the time. But I mean…I really only remember the absence. It’s really true, like, I only remember the absence.
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…
I think I wanted him cuz I was supposed to, but when I actually think of who my father is, like, I would not want him around more because we would just argue and he just annoys me.
Why are you trying to pull me away? I’m perfectly fine without you.
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.
There should be good memories, but there just aren’t any. Guess that’s something I’ll always have and unfortunately will never be able to get over.
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.
I’m not ready to be okay with what happened. I’m not ready to forgive–I’m not ready to…to reward him, you know? Why should I contact you and have this relationship with you when…you didn’t?
I think it remains an unresolved issue and probably always will create some sort of structural weakness in me…
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.
Um, my mom’s told me that when I was little I used to ask where he was, and it broke her heart because she didn’t want to tell me or she couldn’t tell me. There was nothing that would sort of relieve that curiosity in me…
I am not your daughter. You didn’t have anything to do with raising me…You didn’t try to contact us for 14 years…
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.
I don’t remember having a lot of anger, but I do remember the fights.
daisypatton 