your relationship with dad
- Thread starter luka
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william_kent
Well-known member
my family tree stops with me
luka
Well-known member
me to. because no one likes me. not whsat i would have chosen necessarily
but this is how breeding works
WashYourHands
Cat Malogen
my old man was all too human and is deeply deeply missed
first video player we got he rented a battered copy of ET, got pissed right up and called it Extra Torrential....a running gag over time. endless Pops anecdotes, he was funny as fuck
i know he's dead because we were there, when you see such a thing you're never the same, except it's as if he went on holiday and our itineraries haven't aligned since (which is avoidant bollocks too)
first video player we got he rented a battered copy of ET, got pissed right up and called it Extra Torrential....a running gag over time. endless Pops anecdotes, he was funny as fuck
i know he's dead because we were there, when you see such a thing you're never the same, except it's as if he went on holiday and our itineraries haven't aligned since (which is avoidant bollocks too)
My dad was great sometimes. I've really pleasant memories of our house being invaded at certain times of year by his workmates... my mum making mountains of sandwiches in the kitchen, people whipping out the squeezebox and drinking and playing Irish folk records until the small hours, and slipping me £10 notes 
Other claims to fame were helping to wreck an Enoch Powell meeting and decking a copper who tried to fit up a young student outside a pub in Cricklewood. Of course, if my siblings or I ever said anything uncomplimentary about the pigs, he'd bat us round the head and tell us to behave.
He would give his last £5 to a tramp, he was genuinely generous.
The downside was he had a volcanic temper and all of us, in the family, got a taste of it at some point. Could go from laughs to pure rage in 0-60.
Have a vivid memory of sitting in the kitchen, doing my homework, and him and my mum yelling at each other from separate rooms and having completely different conversations.
Other claims to fame were helping to wreck an Enoch Powell meeting and decking a copper who tried to fit up a young student outside a pub in Cricklewood. Of course, if my siblings or I ever said anything uncomplimentary about the pigs, he'd bat us round the head and tell us to behave.
He would give his last £5 to a tramp, he was genuinely generous.
The downside was he had a volcanic temper and all of us, in the family, got a taste of it at some point. Could go from laughs to pure rage in 0-60.
Have a vivid memory of sitting in the kitchen, doing my homework, and him and my mum yelling at each other from separate rooms and having completely different conversations.
WashYourHands
Cat Malogen
yyaldrin
in je ogen waait de wind
i think my dad is slightly autistic. i don't have much with him in common in terms of worldview or interests. i see him twice a year and whenever we meet or depart he gives me a hand, which i always find strange. i do love him and i'm sure he loves me too. on old childhood photos he's really close with me and my siblings, not at all the person as i know him now, but i've forgotten about my child hood so i don't know how that was.
Leo
Well-known member
same here. my older sister never married and my older brother (like me) married at a later age. none of us had the burning desire to have kids, so the end of the line.
I wonder if part of my disinterest was routed in not wanting to be a shit dad. things might have been fine, but also the fear that I could do a terrible job at raising kids, responsible for screwing up their lives, etc.
john eden
male pale and stale
I had that too. Then one day had the realisation that actually that wasn't the worst thing in the world - that I had kinda been defining myself against my parents but that essentially they had done their best in the situation that they found themselves in. My Dad is much less uptight and repressed and nasty than his parents were.
It's an unhelpful cliche but you appreciate parents much more if you have kids yourself. It's an exhausting process that takes it out of you.
jenks
thread death
You could combine this thread and your Ian Drury one with this
www.theguardian.com
Baxter Dury: ‘Everything was about Dad. It was the only way he knew how to survive’
The musician talks about growing up with a pop star dad, escaping his shadow – and the 6ft 7in drug dealer who lived with them
www.theguardian.com
william_kent
Well-known member
I've been thinking about my friends who have never had an opportunity to meet their dad, absent fathers and all that - I count myself lucky that I could have a relationship with my father, no matter how prickly that that was, but at least I knew him..
my birth dad was 18 when I was conceived, he stuck around for a fortnight and scarpered and to be honest I don't blame him. I couldn't pick a haircut I liked at that age, how on earth could you commit to a family? I know his name but I've never seen any pictures of him or met anyone from his side of the family, sometimes I wonder but mostly I feel like it's his loss.
My brother's dad was on the scene til I was about five. We lived above a pub and an off-license, and he was an alcoholic who also had a slot machine installed in the flat. He hit my mother and I didn't realise that this wasn't normal, and it was because I said he did it in front of my grandparents that we got moved out and placed in council housing. They agreed to a custody arrangement with my brother but the condition was that he took both of us because my mother was adamant that we were getting equal treatment. She didn't want one of us to have a dad and not the other. But he couldn't treat us equal - my brother got the better toys, the choice of dinner, front seat in the car every time etc. So it fizzled out. His other kids tried to reach out to me on Facebook, I ignored it, they found my brother and I know they've met; but my policy is to remain strictly disengaged from that, because my own opinions on the man won't change the fact he is my brother's father.
The painter and decorator who came to do the council house became my de facto stepdad until I was 18. I hate the bastard. I wake up every day and I hope he dies. He wanted us to be proper boys - football, rock music, cars, girlfriends. I'm not that person and I never have been. I was a geeky child, not in the comics-and-science way, but in the always-reading, always-indoors way. I liked pop music and dance music and things that were "pretty and nice" and essentially embarassed every sense of fragile masculinity he had. He hated that, and told me constantly what a failure and disappointment I was. We did resemble each other so I can imagine he was worried people would think I was his son and he had brought up a sissy. I got older and became more sure of myself - my beliefs, my politics, and my willingness to fight for them, and did we fight. He battered me a few times, he called me the same things that people who were said to be "bullying" me at school called me, he did everything he could to make me feel ashamed and afraid of the person that I am.
Inevitably I realised my sexuality and told some friends. Not that it was ever going to be hidden with my character and mannerisms. On my 16th my friends jokingly got me a copy of Gay Times, and after drinking in the park I came home and chucked it under the bed. He found it later while looking for something in my room (I've never found out what that was) and threw me out for two days. I slept on a pal's couch, and when I went home to hash it out he told me that I was a disgrace, that I had clearly been laughing at him behind his back, and that he didn't mind as long as I kept it hidden ie no boyfriends, tone down the campness, don't tell anyone local. Nearly half my life has passed and I still can't fathom the mindset to see your stepson's coming out as being about "laughing behind your back" as if it was a deliberate act of spite. When he found out I had been seeing someone he told me I was disgusting and used some really homophobic language to describe it, to him the physical act was repulsive. His own mother had disowned his sister when she came out as a lesbian in her late 30s, so I almost understood it, but when I heard this I realised that it was a proper revulsion rather than a position of fear or ignorance.
My teenage motivation in life to do well at school then uni, to go out and into the world, wasn't driven by a desire to accomplish anything in particular. I just wanted to get away from the shittiness of small-town life and bigotry, to be somewhere where I wouldn't be limited and viewed with scorn because of my identity and my beliefs. I wanted to leave my family and my town and never look back. I wanted away from him and I wanted my revenge of being successful and happy. My mother beat me to it - she left him. He tried to make life difficult for a year - he tried to run me down, he followed me to a new address, he tried to attack me in the street. It was all my fault, apparently. She had realised that I was completely detached from the family and she knew that she would lose me otherwise (too little too late but thats's another story!) But it was never my fault: he was the bastard who ruined most of my childhood, he got the consequences of his actions.
As an adult I used to really struggle with criticisms because I had learned to interpret them as referendums on my worth and validity. I'm also really sensitive to changes in mood and atmosphere, because I had to learn to navigate bad moods and disagreements in a way that only diplomacy would prevent risk ie keeping things peaceful to avoid it happening again. When I do have a crisis, I find myself having flashbacks to occasions when I had been bruised and bloody, and I have to talk myself out of the "maybe he was right" mindset that comes on almost instantly. I don't want to let go of my bitterness and anger: he deserves it, and I deserved better.
I probably shouldn't post all this on a public messageboard but it's not like there's any consequences I could fear.
My brother's dad was on the scene til I was about five. We lived above a pub and an off-license, and he was an alcoholic who also had a slot machine installed in the flat. He hit my mother and I didn't realise that this wasn't normal, and it was because I said he did it in front of my grandparents that we got moved out and placed in council housing. They agreed to a custody arrangement with my brother but the condition was that he took both of us because my mother was adamant that we were getting equal treatment. She didn't want one of us to have a dad and not the other. But he couldn't treat us equal - my brother got the better toys, the choice of dinner, front seat in the car every time etc. So it fizzled out. His other kids tried to reach out to me on Facebook, I ignored it, they found my brother and I know they've met; but my policy is to remain strictly disengaged from that, because my own opinions on the man won't change the fact he is my brother's father.
The painter and decorator who came to do the council house became my de facto stepdad until I was 18. I hate the bastard. I wake up every day and I hope he dies. He wanted us to be proper boys - football, rock music, cars, girlfriends. I'm not that person and I never have been. I was a geeky child, not in the comics-and-science way, but in the always-reading, always-indoors way. I liked pop music and dance music and things that were "pretty and nice" and essentially embarassed every sense of fragile masculinity he had. He hated that, and told me constantly what a failure and disappointment I was. We did resemble each other so I can imagine he was worried people would think I was his son and he had brought up a sissy. I got older and became more sure of myself - my beliefs, my politics, and my willingness to fight for them, and did we fight. He battered me a few times, he called me the same things that people who were said to be "bullying" me at school called me, he did everything he could to make me feel ashamed and afraid of the person that I am.
Inevitably I realised my sexuality and told some friends. Not that it was ever going to be hidden with my character and mannerisms. On my 16th my friends jokingly got me a copy of Gay Times, and after drinking in the park I came home and chucked it under the bed. He found it later while looking for something in my room (I've never found out what that was) and threw me out for two days. I slept on a pal's couch, and when I went home to hash it out he told me that I was a disgrace, that I had clearly been laughing at him behind his back, and that he didn't mind as long as I kept it hidden ie no boyfriends, tone down the campness, don't tell anyone local. Nearly half my life has passed and I still can't fathom the mindset to see your stepson's coming out as being about "laughing behind your back" as if it was a deliberate act of spite. When he found out I had been seeing someone he told me I was disgusting and used some really homophobic language to describe it, to him the physical act was repulsive. His own mother had disowned his sister when she came out as a lesbian in her late 30s, so I almost understood it, but when I heard this I realised that it was a proper revulsion rather than a position of fear or ignorance.
My teenage motivation in life to do well at school then uni, to go out and into the world, wasn't driven by a desire to accomplish anything in particular. I just wanted to get away from the shittiness of small-town life and bigotry, to be somewhere where I wouldn't be limited and viewed with scorn because of my identity and my beliefs. I wanted to leave my family and my town and never look back. I wanted away from him and I wanted my revenge of being successful and happy. My mother beat me to it - she left him. He tried to make life difficult for a year - he tried to run me down, he followed me to a new address, he tried to attack me in the street. It was all my fault, apparently. She had realised that I was completely detached from the family and she knew that she would lose me otherwise (too little too late but thats's another story!) But it was never my fault: he was the bastard who ruined most of my childhood, he got the consequences of his actions.
As an adult I used to really struggle with criticisms because I had learned to interpret them as referendums on my worth and validity. I'm also really sensitive to changes in mood and atmosphere, because I had to learn to navigate bad moods and disagreements in a way that only diplomacy would prevent risk ie keeping things peaceful to avoid it happening again. When I do have a crisis, I find myself having flashbacks to occasions when I had been bruised and bloody, and I have to talk myself out of the "maybe he was right" mindset that comes on almost instantly. I don't want to let go of my bitterness and anger: he deserves it, and I deserved better.
I probably shouldn't post all this on a public messageboard but it's not like there's any consequences I could fear.
IdleRich
IdleRich
Thanks for that, I always find your posts (of this nature) very honest and, for want of a better word, educational for me. I understand why you worry about writing all this stuff on a public notice board but I am glad you do and I'm sure I'm not the only one.
I mean, the other thing is that it wasn't all awful. My parents were young and into music majorly. When my friends came over they would be amazed by how many CDs were in our house, and I got exposed to all kinds of music in a way that nobody else would. I'm not saying it was all good but when everyone else in school was interested in Spice Girls and Boyzone, or being taught the "importance" of Beatles/Dylan/Bowie etc, my parents were bringing in Ministry Of Sound compilations (my gateway into dance music) and stuff they'd heard via John Peel etc (my gateway into the shoegaze etc side of indie that I love). I'm not saying having a music library as a kid growing up in a council scheme justified anything, but it was the one strong connection we had and he fostered my interest in it, which is pivotal to how I think of myself as a fan/consumer/hobbyist in music.
I always find it really useful to talk about my experiences as an LGBT+ person in real terms. I think a lot of people have this idea of what "gay rights" and "the fight for equality" means in abstract terms and values, but the lived experience of it is something that can be really hard to understand and relate to without firm examples of how eg gender stereotypes, violence, etc can manifest and affect those involved, and I think being able to talk about where I've come from and why I do what I do can make it seem real. It's not like I'm on a crusade to change the world by sharing my family history, but I know that when someone talks to me about their own story and how it's shaped them it helps me find an empathy and understanding that I wouldn't necessarily innately have.
Also it's just really cathartic for me to be able to say, this happened and I've dealt with it and will continue to do so.
shiels
_
I love him more than ever now we only see each other 6/7 times a year. As a teenager I wanted to be his opposite, he's very straightforward and pragmatic in certain ways, and stubborn. he stiff and manly in a way I despised when I was younger but have grown to accept and even appreciate. I think that's probably a common path for people?