My Dad… was a stern man. He owned his own company and worked seven days a week. He was one of seven children, the ONLY boy. At sixteen he dropped out of school, lied about his age, and joined the Navy. He served his four years and got out. He was a husband, Dad, Cop, Security Guard, Janitor, Grass Cutter, Snow Plower, and owner of a four-headed light (the only one on the east coast at that time) used for big openings, important events and such. In fact, he drove it down to North Carolina where it was in Dawson’s Creek episode. He was a hard worker who never stayed still and was constantly exhausted. But…

When I was little, I got whippings so hard I had welts and fingerprints on my legs. I wasn’t a bad kid AT ALL but my Dad would always find a reason for a whipping somehow.

“I love you’s” just sounded forced. Throughout my life, and into my adult years, I believed my Dad just tolerated me; he didn’t love me. Kisses, hugs, and I love you’s were initiated by me and he would grumble back an I love you. Everything having to do with emotions just seemed forced.

When I was 16 years old, my parents got into a big fight and my Dad took my Mom’s keys to her car. I offered her my car, and I would take the bus to school, but she wouldn’t take it. She had to get rides to and from work. Luckily, there was a coworker of hers that lived close to where we lived so that became my Mom’s ride. I couldn’t take her myself because she worked about 45 minutes away from home.

So being the problem-solver for my mom, I confronted my dad about it and told him I thought it was crap. He told me it was MY fault because I didn’t give her my car. Once again it was put on me. I bugged the crap out of him for a couple of days and he finally got so tired of me he threw my Mom’s car keys at me and said, “Here, she can have the damn things.” To say I felt good about myself at that time would be an understatement. I had gotten my Mom’s car keys back for her!

After that I knew fighting back was an option, and it sometimes got results, so I continued to do this for my Mom. My Mom was very passive at the time and I thought she needed a protector like me.

One day my Dad and I were in the living room and I was doing some school work. He wanted me to go do dishes and I told him I would do them right after I finished my work. He didn’t like that so he threw the remote controller at me. It barely missed my head but it put a chip in the wall.

After my parents split up, my Dad didn’t reach out to me at all. I, unfortunately, only reached out to him when I needed money. I figured there was no other reason to reach out to see him because if he wanted to see me wouldn’t he reach out to me himself? And because he wasn’t reaching out it further validated my feelings that he didn’t love me.

The feeling continued all through my teenage years; me feeling like he didn’t really love me and wasn’t proud of me. One of his coworkers would tell me my Dad was proud of me but I never believed it because he wouldn’t SAY IT TO ME.

My Dad’s and my relationship continued to get worse. When I got arrested for shoplifting and I called to let him know before he found out from someone else (small town’s pass information quickly), he started yelling at me so I hung up.

When my Mom had to sign me into the psychiatric unity, I called him, while having my last cigarette until I would get out, and he told me it was probably for the best. It ended up that it was part of what I needed, but at the time I just wanted him to come and pick me up, or even tell me he wished he couldn’t come to pick me up. Anything really, just not what he told me. For me, further validation (once again) that he didn’t love me.

Into my adult years, I felt my Dad didn’t love me. It wasn’t until he passed and I started seeing a psychiatrist here in Indiana that my whole world was turned upside down by one sentence she said to me.

Stay tuned for Part 2 next week!