I envy those who I see hugging their dads, and saying how wonderful they were.
As Father's Day swings around once more, my thoughts reflect on this evil bastard, and the woman he married who, though not necessarily evil and who I'm sure was unaware of his past, was as unstable as a two-legged horse. The only sad thing about him dying in 1993 was that it was 30 years too late.
It took me 20 years to have the courage to write my story--to get this vile man out of my head once and for all. He was everything inhumane in a human being: thief, psychotic abuser who knocked me from pillar to post until the day when I hit him back, a serial adulterer who drove his first wife to suicide, racist, homophobe. You name it, he was it. Even after he married the fat (23 stones) woman above, he couldn't keep it inside his pants. The family called him OB--Old Bastard--for the way he treated my mother, who to date holds the record for the largest funeral in the town where I was raised.
As for her--she mocked the two good women in my life--my wife and my mother-in-law--giving us just 6 months of marriage, and predicting that the latter would end up "in the cuckoo house". In fact, that's where SHE ended up. My father-in-law said that if she'd have lived in 18th century France, she'd have been sat in front of the guillotine, knitting.
As for the siblings who said that I would never amount to much in life--well, three have fared reasonably well, while two ended up in jail for heinous crimes, another drove a man to suicide, and another one--who very definitely takes after her mother--would have given Freud (and Boris Karloff) nightmares.
It's all here, in my story!