I was born in 1966 into a dysfunctional family. I didn’t ever have a relationship with my father because he didn’t want that with his kids.

Apparently, my eldest sister did spend time with my father for a while when she was a child. She said that this time she had was precious, but didn’t last.

So, my father would ignore me except when he was angry or when he wanted to make a fool of me. I was a sensitive child and wasn’t the typical male kid, but I was very good at calisthenics and all things fitness.

I just can’t understand why someone would have three children and then ignore them(?)

I ran away from home at age 16 because I could no longer put up with the mental/emotional and physical abuse from my father.

I moved to the city permanently and I avoided going home to visit my parents because of my father’s abuse.

I would get these letters from him asking me to come home because my mother wanted to see me. Over the years I got a lot of letters from him asking me to come home because of my mother. He never said anything about wanting to see me (in these letters).

Both my parents would visit me in the city (where I lived) every time they would come to the city, but they would only stay for ten minutes. I worked out this short time was all my father could put up with to see me. They would have a coffee and then leave. My father often gave me money. My mother said it was because he felt guilty. I will never know if this was true because my father refused to speak to me about anything other than: how’s your job? How’s your car? etc.

My father died in 1999. He was both not-a-good-person, and an intelligent and hard-working man. Even when I spoke to other people in the town (when he died) they said he was seen both as an arshole and a good person.

When I watch stuff on Netflix about families and the amazing bonds they can have I am baffled by it because I never had that with my family. I can well imagine how nice it would be. But I’ll never know the love of family.

Gavin.