(Female only) How did your father affect your life?

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I never knew my father, and he is dead now, so he didn't affect me much, I think.

I was the golden child when I was young. I was precocious...they called me Dr. Spock. I was logical, and cute, and very serious. I knew so many things, and acted like a little grown up. I told jokes (but had no understanding of them), I did accents (and told jokes) and was very accomplished. And then I saw through my father.

He told me I was different. He told me that I would never be like everyone else. I would never have any friends. I would never understand anyone really. And as I grew up, I wouldn't let him manipulate me. I didn't understand why he would want to. So of all my siblings, I was the one who walked away. And he hated that. I was sick alot, and I got really messed up. And he hated that too. I fell from my pedestal. And he was really mean to my mother through my whole life.

When they split up I sided with my mother. No one has talked to us since. And somehow I'm okay with that. It really doesn't matter that much. He was a very nasty person, who pitted the kids against each other. He belittled the others because they weren't smart, and made fun of me because I was odd. He treated my mother like a slave.

He had a lot of problems, and he didnt' even know it. I know he suffered from mental problems, but I hesitate to put a label to it. He was definately an alcoholic.

I'm okay with him not being in my life.

My father is very emotionally distant (and always was), but at the same time very domineering. As a child I didnt like or love him at all as we would often argue about things. As I got older I guess I got used to losing the arguments and became more meek and even more distant from him. Since leaving home I have become more fond of him - realise that he cant help being the way he is, and now we dont argue any more. Whether I really like him though is debateable. If I think this way though I then feel really bad because I am sure now that deep down somewhere he does love me.

What I learned from my father and grandfather is how to fear men. On two occasions when I was about 7 or 8, my father punched me in the stomach hard enough to make me lose my breath. He seldom talks about his childhood, so I don't know whether he came from an abusive family. His father died before I was born so I don't know what he was like. I do know my father has resentment issues towards his mother, he claims that she did not let his father follow his dreams or have what he wanted, so this justifies his behavior. He actually said that he was going to have the things his father did not--and he pretty much has gotten his way. The rest of the family had to pretty much make do with the legal minimum. Oh, and you do not ever criticize him. Ever. The sad thing is there have been a few times when I think things between us could have been different, but he chose to be the way he is.

My mother's father was likewise verbally abusive to his wife and children (and some of us grandchildren think there was physical abuse as well). He could be a real charmer where outsiders were concerned but behind closed doors it was another story. My father did not get along with his father-in-law and bristles whenever anyone even hints that he is like him. But unfortunately, I hate to say it, it is true, my mother did in a sense marry her father.

My father has kept a diary ever since I can remember and a few years back I accidentally saw one of the early ones that he was in the process of transcribing to computer. In it he had kept track of EVERY fight I had with my brother as well as my other transgressions (and being Aspy, my whole life has been one big transgression). I was very hurt that he chose to record that but I never said anything to him. I think he knows, though. One time he was talking about my mother being afraid of her father and said he hoped that none of his kids were afraid of him. I just stood there, remembering that blow to my stomach and how frightened I was at not being able to breathe. There was no answer I could possibly give that would not hurt him or make him angry so I said nothing. But what I wanted to say was No, Dad, I am no longer afraid of you, because now I am independent and you no longer control me. How very, very sad. I know he was disappointed that I did not say Yes, but I cannot forget that blow.

I was never physically abused (my mom would have killed him if he had), so I can only imagine how that adds to the pain of being verbally abused. He doesn't deserve you, as he intentionally hurt you.

My parents split up when I was 3 so I never really got to know my father very well.

I visited him a few times but when I was 11 I stopped going to see him for various reasons. He abused animals physically. Since I am an animal lover that was hard for me to watch. He took drugs when I was near him and drove while he was influenced by them. He didn't accept me for who I was and often told me to "use shorter words". I don't know why he would want me to act dumber than I really was.
He did have good qualities though. He wanted the best for me and was always trying to teach me new skills such as how to milk a cow, how to drive a car and a farm bike, how to shoot a shot gun and even how to gut a turkey. I have know idea how this would have helped me [apart from the driving lessons to drive]...but obviously he thought that I needed to learn some new skills.
He gave me some good advice such as telling me about "stranger danger" [my mother was hesitant to for some odd reason]. But also some bad advice such as smoking weed is ok because it's a herb. He even took me deep into the forest one day when he went to pick his drugs.

Overall...he hasn't really had an effect on my life because I never really got to know him. I know some of the things he did, but not what he was like as a person.
The only thing he has left me with is questions. The main one being..."who is my father?".

Father. Mine left when I was two and saw me until I was about four years old perhaps, then he decided that I was too expensive to interact with, then said he never wanted to see me again and vanished. I was very aware that he lied to me quite a lot, so that when I grew up, I said I'd hate my father, as I thought that this would be the required and accepted emotional response. However, in truth I didn't feel anything of the sort, no anger, no sadness, nothing. No emotional attachment - I was never great in these with anyone and it was a natural state of disinterest.

So came that my first meeting after 10 or so years with my father I was devoid of any emotions towards him. I had the same feeling towards him as to any other person - disinterest. My father turned out to be a very boring person and I wasn't bothered. Now recently, he caused a havoc and now, he's out of my life. Telling me how my mother supposedly messed me up and what fine other children he has found who are nothing like me and that I should be careful not to turn into him, because he thinks that I turn out to be like him - I have no fear of it, it is an impossibility. He's a drinking, abusive, manipulative, out-for-his-own-gain bastard who stops at nothing and never has. I consider myself far away from all this.

He's out of my life again. Everything is as it should, I'm satisfied.

My dad didn't seem to want any future for me. He thought that I would never amount to anything, and he even told that to me, one summer's evening, or afternoon. He never really gave me credit, for having a brain, and I couldn't speak my opinion, without him having to disagree, and be right, all the time. He coerced me into going into a Special Needs work experience programme, at my local college, because he was limiting me, thinking that I wouldn't be able to handle regular college programmes, or have any type of a career. Each time that I've told him that I hated my factory job, and I was planning on looking for a different job, he'd sternly tell me over and over and over again, "Nobody likes their job!" I've hated hearing that obvious fact so much, that I wouldn't talk to him for days, afterwards. I became an angry Mod. Not a Swinger, a Mod! I've turned against authority. I've quit my factory job, after I've developed Mental Health issues, because I wanted to. I'm now an unemployed Sid the Rat type Punker, who would love a simple job, like my first job, at that factory. I know that my slow, but highly intelligent Sid-like brain would not be able to handle the demands of the jobs that are also known, as careers. The anger that I used to feel towards my father, seems to have vanished, because maybe he might have been right, but I needed my own sign, to be able to see, what he was getting at. It didn't mean that my dad didn't love me. It's just that he didn't know the right words to say, or that I was very sensitive to harsh judgments, between the ages 15 and 24. I do live a limited life, because I was taught to live a limited life, but a limited life is nice and relaxing, for Sid. :O)

Ebec11, tell, saying 'relationship between father and daughter', do you only mean the biological father? I hadn't thought about that earlier.

The other day I was asked to write an essay or a poem for an upcoming publication that will be out on Mother's Day. The topic had to be about a "Precious memory about Mom from your childhood." I sat there in front of the computer for over an hour, unable to think of one single good childhood memory involving my mother. Anything she ever gave me always came with strings attached. From the age of ten until my early twenties, we fought constantly. My father was really the only parent I really had. Mom was there, but only physically. She seemed to openly despise me from the day I was born. Why? My only guess is because I was female and she didn't want a girl. In revenge for my being born, she ignored me completely and spoiled my brothers.

My father was the one who hugged me when I was depressed, he cleaned up the scraped knee I got when I fell off my bike and he was the one who stood with me on the first day of school until I stopped crying and went to join the rest of the class. He was always there for me, no matter how bad off I got. When he died in '93, I was so devastated that I stayed drunk for 3 months solid. These days I manage to "get along" with my mother, but she still throws the past in my face when the notion takes her. I couldn't write that poem about my mother, but I could write a whole novel on the love from my father. He was a quiet, gentle, intelligent man who loved animals, and he always talked to me and my brothers about everything - from how many stars there could possibly be in the universe to how you should always try to help a person in need if you get the opportunity.
He was, is and always will be a saint in my eyes.