Father vs. A Dad

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What is the definition of a perfect family? First there was me, a very small young girl that was very soft hearted. My mother was next, she was very tough and independent. She did not let others see her weaknesses. Hockey season was our favorite season. Before any of my games started, I began to look around for my family. What seemed like hundreds of parents were yelling for their children. Lastly, there’s a father. He was always late for my events and separated himself. A verbally abusive hot head that never knew how to deal with his anger.


Go ahead, look up the definition between being a dad and being a father. Google will define them the same way, I disagree completely. In my personal dictionary, a dad is someone who raises their children, helps them grow up, nurtures them, and chooses to be present. (For example: sporting events, dance recitals, etc) A father on the other hand, is more of a biological term. They are no longer around to watch you develop into a young adult.
Growing up I had a dad. I had someone who was around at my hockey games and watched me cheer. Even though he was always 20 minutes late, he always tried to show an effort. I never spoke to him every day, but every so often I would be asked how my day was. This relationship had never been solid whatsoever.
Something suddenly started to change.


Before my eyes, I would witness my dad quit caring. No longer showing up to my events, or even family dinner. The more time that passed, the more violent and angry he would become. When things got hard or didn’t go his way, he would completely shut down. I still do not know what exactly caused so much hate inside him. My home became a broken home.


I started to just think that this crazy behaviour was okay. Walking in on my mom crying after he had left the room. Is this how all men treat women? Not knowing any better, I started to convince myself that’s just how things work. On numerous occasions I remember watching my father start yelling, stomp into the kitchen like a child, and rip the silverware drawer out of the cabinet and drop it to make a mess for us to clean up. Another time, I came home from school to see my dresser in my bedroom kicked over and broken. I had no need to ask what happened, I already knew.


If it was not obvious enough already, my mom was miserable. Metaphorically she was locked up, away from the outside world. Friendships failed because she was never allowed to go out. The only reason she stayed as long as she did was for me. Being a child of divorce was hard, and she was waiting until I was old enough to understand she needed to do this not only for herself, but for me also.


The separation was absolutely the most difficult time of my life. As we packed to leave we tried to keep our items isolated. Avoiding any arguments or temper tantrums from my father. We kept the pace up until the day we were supposed to leave. An argument had caused my father to use a floor lamp like a baseball bat and smash some of our possessions. Being scared of his reaction, we let him have everything in the separation. Not even 2 weeks later he moved a new woman in and ended up marrying her 3 days before my birthday.


To this day (3 years later), he still doesn’t support or even talk to me. If I am lucky I will receive a text once a month from him to tell me that I am “Just like my mother” or “An embarrassment to his last name.” I try not to let my mom get upset from his behaviour. I, on the other hand, am used to it. Since my mom is gone, I am the next victim of his harsh words. I would do anything for my mom to be happy. She deserves the world even though she does not always see it. Because of her, I have developed into an independent, outspoken, and courageous young woman. Too bad my father will never be able to witness me succeed.






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