I never had a real male figure role model in my life. My biological father was a crummy one. When my mother was pregnant with my sister and he was supposed to take care of me, he instead left me with another pregnant woman at a park to go find cigarettes. This poor woman had to go around the block many times to find my mother at home cooking dinner for my father and I.
Another story, one of my favorites, is when my mom told me I would not stop crying in the middle of the night. So dear ol’ dad went over to my crib and slapped me a couple of times to shut me up. Which in turn had developed my epilepsy.
I think what put a nail in the coffin, of forgetting I even wanted to remember him. Was the day of my sisters funeral. Not only did he blame my mother for my sisters death, he left right after the funeral. Leaving my mom and I with no where to go.
The sad part was, that is the first memory of that I have of my real father at my sisters funeral.
Part One. Part Two will be later.