I don’t go to church on Father’s Day. Like many others who have had a lousy Dad I don’t want to hear all the beautiful stories of what others had that many of us didn’t. I don’t need the reminders of what I should have had, but didn’t.
There are those who had mean, alcoholic, abusive fathers. There are some of us that were abandoned and left to never know a smiling face of a father, or share the laughter and shouts at a ball game with Dad, or hear how pretty we are without roaming, pawing hands.
There are some of us that knew the harsh words and the sting of a belt across our back, legs, or butt. Some of us may have known all of the above as well as violent sexual encounters over and over and over with this man who was to love us, protect us…
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