My parents split up when I was three. I don't remember Dad being at home at all - all of my "dad" memories are after he left, after he moved in with mum's younger sister.
In fact, I can only think of a couple of nice memories of my dad - including the time we pretended to do Torvill & Dean's Bolero with me on roller skates, in his front room, and the time at my mum's funeral when I got literally the only hug I ever remember him giving me.
Most of my "go to" Dad memories are of him either being distant, or not there at all, or putting other people ahead of me.
I was 5. I had measles. I wanted my Daddy - I cried for him for two days, apparently. He turned up *eventually*. According to my mum, I then pretended to be asleep when he visited.
I was 14. I was in the orchestra for the school's performance of The Mikado. Dad was invited but (even though the show was on for four or five nights) couldn't make it. I can't remember him EVER coming to a school "thing".
I was 19. I thought it was time to face my demons - which involved telling my Dad and step-mum (mum's younger sister) that I had been repeatedly sexually assaulted between the ages of 10 and 13 by step-mum's son (my cousin/step-brother). Did he believe me? No. Because cousin/step-bro said he didn't do it.
I was 23. I'd just been beaten up by my brother (not dad's son). Dad lived a ten minute walk away. It took him three days to come and see me - and then it was only to tell me that I should drop the charges against my brother. I didn't.
Later that same year, I had decided that I wanted to get to know my dad as an adult (yeah, I'd obviously been watching too much Jerry Springer or Jezza Kyle!). I spoke to him, telling him this, only to get back "The worst mistake I ever made was marrying your mother...and then YOU came along".
And now he has alzheimers and I'm conflicted. The shell of the person looks like my dad, but it's not my dad. Because my dad is an arsehole. A toxic, nasty person.
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