I was a pretty angry kid. I don't like to think I had a bad childhood. In fact, I didn't really think I had a childhood much different than anyone else's ("Every one's is hard, isn't it?") until my mom recently told me otherwise.
I won't go into specifics except to say that I don't speak to my biological father, and I haven't for some time. He isn't a good person, he wasn't a good father and he wasn't a good husband to my mom (or the other handful of women he has married). And it's my understanding that he's now reaping what he's sown. Alone.
I have spent a lot of time in my life overcoming the feelings he hurt and the emotional damage he did. But I've spent a lot less time than someone else might need, because my mom and step-dad (though I call him dad) were there to pick up the pieces he always managed to leave in his wake.
They pushed and prayed and protected and worried, I'm sure, more than I'll ever understand. They took me to counselors, and talked and lectured endlessly. My mom told me she used to get physically sick when she had to let me go over for my visitation every other weekend (or whenever he could get around to picking me up). But somehow they raised me to be a productive member of society, and I'm sure it took even more work because I was already sort of in the negative. It took some time but they fixed me right up. They helped fix the damage someone else might just be doomed to live with forever.
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