[Frazod]

My parents dated in high school and married young. From what I'm told they fought like cats and dogs even when they dated. I remember asking my aunt, was there ever a time they got along? She said no. But I guess the sex was great (eww) or something, because they married at 19. I was born when they were 20. They still fought like hell, all the time. Dad left shortly before I turned 5, the divorce was final a couple of months later, and dad was remarried to the woman he'd been ****ing around with a few months after that. A few years later my half-sister was born, the correct child by the correct mother. That was pretty much it for me. All I ever was to my dad was a reminder of a previous life and woman that he hated, and a financial liability which ended in June of 1983. I was told to get the **** out when I turned 18, and I got the **** out while I was still 17. Outside of a card with $20 in it on birthdays and Christmas, I never got a goddamn thing from the man. I have no memory of him ever telling me that he loved me, or giving me a hug, and can count of one hand the times he seemed to show any real pride in anything I ever did, and most of those involved shooting (at least he taught me that). I don't think there was ever a time in my life when we were together that he didn't look at me and think of how much he hated mom. I don't think he hated me - he'd have to care for that. If I was around, I was just there. If I wasn't, I wasn't. There was never any relationship to salvage, nothing to build on. Either of us could have easily reached out at any time over the last years of his life to the other; neither of us chose to. My wife of 16 years never met him. Probably best for all concerned. I wasn't at his funeral, and I have no idea where he's buried. I certainly received nothing in the way of inheritance, nor did I expect to.

Now, people certainly have worse fathers. He always paid the child support on time. He always worked. He never laid a hand on me. Hell, I was an adult before I ever saw him drink a beer, and I never saw him drunk. But he did the bare minimum required and that was it.

He was mostly a dour, unhappy man. While he wasn't physically abusive to me (he was to my mom), or to my knowledge my step mom, he was certainly mentally and verbally abusive. My best friend's cousin worked for him up until the time he died. Said he was a bitter, miserable prick, right up until the end. And he died suddenly, at age 67, so he never had a chance to enter old-man-trying-to-get-into-heaven mode. I somehow doubt if he would have anyway.

Did he have regrets? Did he ever think of me? I have no idea. He reaped what he sowed. Now he's gone. The end. It's not really painful to talk about it, or write it out, at this point - it's just kind of sad. Has the whole thing scarred me? Certainly. But you take what life gives you and move on. That's probably what any therapist would tell me, and I don't need to pay extra for it.