Child Abuse Story From Lea1
by Lea
(USA)
Writing Off the Blood Line:
My mother never talked badly about him, and always made sure I could form my own opinion of him. He may have been my father, but I wasn't very fond of him anyway. He had been in and out of my life and made his own impression on me. He was a scumbag. Throughout my life we were constantly playing this futile game of hide and seek. I wasn't one of those kids that never knew where my father was, because his mother used to tip me off and tell me. Then he and I would be in contact for a few months or so. After those few months, or usually even less, he was gone. It went on three or four times during my life. It sucked, because I really wanted him to give a s**t and change...but he never did. I guess in a way I expected too much...
He was always asking such shallow questions when he did come around. "How is school?" 'Erm, yeah. I finished school.' "Well, how was it when you went, and do you plan on going to college?" ...etc. It was so easy to tell that he didn't much care for deep talk. I wasn't about to bring up the emotional scarring he'd left behind. I remember when I finally wrote him off in cursive and sealed it with a kiss on the line. It was around the Christmas of '07. He sent me a Christmas card with no return address OR signature. I knew it was from him because of the location stamp; he was the only person I knew from Michigan at the time. He sent $100 inside, and that did NOT make up for what he hadn't done. I would have preferred he signed it, at least in manuscript than gotten all the money in his ability to give.
It started with ignoring him and stopping all communication, then I slowly decided to change my name. I was tired of bearing a last name that made me so angry and nauseous at the same time. Not only was my last name his, but my first name was his idea...and one that related back to an old drinking habit. So, I decided to write him off the best I could — I succeeded. I am changing BOTH names. I will be using a first name given to me by a friend, and my last name was taken from my great grandfather — he was a beautiful man, and once he died no one really carried his name that knew him well. So why not?
I'll never quite forget what my father did to me though. Some of me thinks if he came back, apologized, and asked for another chance I would forgive him and allow it. The other part of me knows I'd be a fool if I did so. I HAVE done so, and nothing changes. Yet, somehow I just keep hoping...I kept hoping that one day he would wake up and wonder how my mom is doing, or wonder how I am, or want to get to know me. Though, here I am years later and realize that is never going to happen. He always asked me why I called him a father, but the answer is obvious. He is my blood and therefore my father — however, he is NOT by any means a dad. He's never been there for me. All well, I have a step-dad who loves me...who is ACTUALLY a dad. So, I'm well off.
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