(and still is…)
After my mother divorced my dad when I was 2 years old, she spent most of her energy trying to destroy my father, both financially and emotionally. She tried to sever the relationship my two older sisters and I had with him. She finally managed to move us away from my dad when I was almost 12.
My dad apparently was a feminist, because this was a ‘bring your daughters to work day’ about 20 years before it was established by Gloria Steinem.
My dad worked in a train yard in the suburbs of Chicago.
My dad, my stepmother, and my sisters.
Mmmm, we were stylin’ in those polyester pants…
I don’t think I was ever held like this by my mother. I have very few pictures of me at her house, and none of them like these.
Still, to this day, I love holding hands and being held. It’s pretty evident that I adored my dad and he loved us dearly, no matter what my mother said about him.
My dad never had a lot of material things, but he gave me the only thing I ever needed and wanted the most:
If I learned to bond to another human at all, if I learned to Love at all, it was because of my FATHER, not my mother.
The thing I think that hurt me the most about moving from New Mexico back to Illinois when I was 11 was the loss of this loving connection to my father. It was another 29 years before I was able to see my dad again.