My father and I

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When my dad was around my age he and his friends went into a supermarket and poured purple bubble bath into the fountain. They then ran away because the fountain started to overflow. This was before anyone suspected that I would ever exist.

At the time of my birth my parents lived in a house in a neigborhood that had a lot of trees. The story of this particular neighborhood is that the guy who was supposed to cut down a whole forest to build a neighborhood decided that he liked the forest too much, so he only cut down as many trees as he had too and the neighborhood was built inside the forest. It was like an average nighborhood except there was a huge canopy of trees arching overhead everywhere you went. It sounds too good to be true, I know.

Some of my earliest memories consist of my father and I taking long walks in a forest near where we lived. Back then I could name all the different species of trees. I know what a maple was, what a paper birch was ect. I was hooked on nature from day one. Nowadays I can't remember most of the tree species I used to know although I can still name some. I also liked to read books about animals and dinosaurs back then. When I was in kindergarden I was good at learning the material. I could count and read very early but I always did the opposite of what I was told. When everyone was sitting down I would be running around and making wierd noises. Even then I was too awesome for the rules. I also liked to sign my name really big because my name is important and deserves to be signed REAL BIG. Even then I didn't care about writing on the line. I think I drove my kindergarten teacher crazy - no seriously I actually think I did.

When I was young my dad used to take me out on camping trips. My grandfather on his side of the family, my dad's younger half-brother and our beagle would come too. It would just be the five of us. We would canoe out to an island and just relax there. I remember on one trip I lost a toy plasitc snake and when we went back to the same island years later I found it again. Such, such were the joys.

I can't remember when Barney the beagle died. I think I was about six. It was cancer. No dog will ever replace him.

Back when my parents were still married my dad had some problems with anger, but he still had some likable qualities. He was a fun-loving adventurous person who wasn't too religious. He also taught me to swear, though he wasn't trying to.

I remember saying before on this site that my mom did all the work when I was a kid although I can't remember exactly how true that is and I was probably interpreting my fuzzy memory in a biased way. I know my dad had a job at one point in my life. I'm pretty sure my dad had a job until he went on disability when I was around seven.

My parents got divorced when I was around eight because of my dad's anger issues. Eventually he had treatments to remove mercury from his blood and became a Christian fundie. I'm pretty sure it was just the mercury treatments that ended his anger issues, not Jesus, but he thinks it was both and that's why he became a devout creationist Christian. He's been a lot less funny and a lot more boring ever since he became a fundie. Also, he still has no job. I don't know how I can even respect him anymore. He has no job and he disbelieves in evolution. When I was a kid I loved to read about evolution and dinosaurs. Evolution is so ingrained into my mind that an hour in room 101 would not remove it. I think it was around the time my dad became a Christian fundie that I personally started to question religion.

My father's transformation left a hole in my psyche - I had respected him for being a fun-loving adventurer who wasn't too religious and had a job. Now he wasn't that anymore. Also, he stopped taking me camping after he and my mom split up. I still miss the camping trips.

Since my father was so different I became interested in a guy who was like he used to be - Steve Irwin. That guy was so awesome! He died around my fourteenth birthday - which was right before I entered high school.

In high school I went to Christian youth camps during the summer despite my waning faith. Everyone there was so oversocialized, so judgemental of a nonconformist like myself. It wasn't like when I used to go camping with my dad. In Chrisitian youth camp you had to wake up when told, sleep when told, walk when told. I felt like I was in boot camp marching in formation like one of God's little sheep. That's not how dad and I used to camp. We saw camping as a way of relaxing. We saw civilizaton as a place of social norms and camping as a way to escape them. We did whavever we wanted while we were camping. Also, Christian youth camp had too many safety regulations. Safety makes everything less fun. I've broken fingers and toes in my life before, they healed. I broke my left arm tobogganing when I was eleven and I still am typing this. I had run-ins with gangstas in high school in which I almost got myself killed. Bring it on world!

The last time I went to Christian youth camp I lost even more faith.

I remember about a year ago now when I told my dad over the phone that I had abandoned Christianity and was an atheist (I was actually agnostic but I wasn't sure if he knew what that was). It was absolutely pathetic. He just kept repeating the same crap about how "bad things happen but God still loves you" over and over again. I actually put down the phone and picked it up 30 seconds later and he was still blabbing. I had to interrupt him to stop him from talking, if I hadn't he would have probably went on for hours. He then told me that my grandmother on my mother's side of the family is a good Christian despite the fact that my mother's mother is admittedly sceptical of her own faith. He enden by telling me that nonbelief is "just something I'm going through." I think fundamentalist Christianity is just something he's going through.

Recently my dad married a missionary woman from South America. Now he'll probably never have any time to take me camping ever again.

I miss a lot about my old dad. When I hear my dad talk about when he poured bubble bath in the fountain I think "That's my real dad!" The person currently inhabiting my dad's body is not my dad. He is a boring alien. My real dad is a hooligan. My real dad likes to escape from rules, just like me. I miss how my dad used to be fun. I even miss the swearing.

Since then I've tried to find father figures in historical figures. I try to find people who remind me of me or how my dad used to be. I've read about George Orwell, Friedrich Nietzsche, Theodore Roosevelt, Ted Kaczynski, none of them remind me enough of how my dad used to me. I really hope someday my dad quits this Christianity game and starts being the hooligan he used to be.

I suppose this should be a thread for anyone who had had a not-so good relationship with their father and wants to talk about it. You can share your stories of you want.

I hope you get to reconnect with him someday. You should try telling him some of things you've said here and maybe he'll try to come back to you.

I guess my relationship with my father is okay. I find it hard to be emotionally connected with him but I think that's more me than him. When I was much younger I used to help him a lot with RC planes and his shows and such but I kind of grew out of it and my younger brother filled that role instead. I guess he's much more closer to him than I am now.

My father is a psychopathic freak. 'Nuff said.

My dad and I never had a relationship.