Thanks, Steph.

When I was about 10, I accidentally spilled the milk i was pouring into my cereal. My father sent me to my room to "think about what I had done."

???????

I wish I could have gotten a father that's less...Sheldon-y.(And, yes, I still find it hilarious on that show when he stops everything to make people look at sputum, but when he's your dad and he's that selfish, it's really not terrific.And, yes, my dad totally does that.) I wish my stepfather would have buggered off before I'd built a relationship and gotten to love and trust him so that I could just be like "that ASS!" be over it, but on the other hand, it was from that relationship that I learned what dads really *do* besides be a dependable ride to the movies, so I guess that is important.

And, of course, my father is a loving man, who's tried his best, but the damage was done. Also, he doesn't remember most of these moments that still haunt me. I bring them up, and he doesn't remember them at all.

Well, I certainly hope you thought about it and of course came to the conclusion that it was spilled milk.

My heart hurts for all of you that had the rotten parents. Mine were the lovely variety. My mother must have told me thousands of times (and still does) that I can do anything, that I am smart, that I am beautiful, etc. This is what I always figured parents were supposed to do because mine did.

I was nonetheless a really rotten kid, really and sincerely rotten. They did not deserve me. And yet they didn't hold it against me.

Unfortunately I have a really bad memory or maybe I could figure out my one odd trigger. It is loss. Doesn't matter if it is socks or my dear late husband. I really react badly to loss of any magnitude. I had one evil woo woo therapist tell me decades ago when Steve was sick that something within me attracted this and I felt she was saying I somehow wanted or needed Steve to be sick. I reacted by getting flat out furious, but it still stuck.

Anyway, I KNOW that you can do anything you set your mind to, that you are smart and talented, and that you are beautiful. And since I clearly know everything I am right about this.

He wouldn't be the first to rewrite history. Sean. But sometimes people don't realize either.

I wish I could have gotten a father that's less...Sheldon-y.

My dad was an eccentric brainiac, but again I figured he was normal when I was a kid. He didn't really understand how to communicate with children, but it seemed normal and although he really didn't talk to us, we knew he was proud of us. We were able to communicate just fine when I was an adult. By that time I felt sorry for him that he missed so much with his inability to interact.

edit because the drugs make the English suffer

I will be forever thankful to whatever PTB that I got my dad, and I still offer to loan him to my friends who need a good, supportive parent.

He's a good extra Dad.

And your Mom was really a good person who had a lot of flaws and unacknowledged internal struggles. But one doesn't negate the other. I remember one Mother's Day and I wasn't with either of my Moms but yours was so welcoming and she really made me feel better as a person and daughter that day. It's one of those things I will never forget about her.

Yeah, Laura, sometimes I'm sorry, sometimes I'm really pissed. It depends on if I feel like I need something or not.

I have this memory of one of the times my mother was hospitalized for a "nervous breakdown" of being farmed out to a family friend. She was a kind, caring person who took reasonably good care of me. Don't remember how old I was, four or five, maybe. The thing is, my dad had made arrangements for my two brothers to stay with neighbors down the street who had boys the same age, and my sister went to stay with an aunt and uncle. I wanted to be with my sister so much. Compared to other things that happened in my family that were abusive, this was nothing harmful. But the separation has had its effect on me. I felt cut off from the rest of my family. It echoes down the years for me in ways that no one else feels.

My inner four year old wants to sit and share cookies with all y'all's inner abandoned children.