As I grow up, even though I had a stable father figure around, we lacked the bond and love a father and daughter should have. Instead of hugs, I had the belt.
Instead of love, I had the bible shoved down my throat at every opportunity.
I never could work out if it was because I wasn’t his blood, or was it just the fact that I reminded my mum of my blood father, and he hated that. Or maybe it was the case of him just not liking me.
A child without love rebels, plays up and tests the boundaries more than the normal loved child.
Any attention is better than none, I guess.
Now when I look back, I really wasn’t that bad, I played up, sure I did, but what teen doesn’t. I really can’t say I was worse than any other child my age.
Deep inside there was always that longing to discover who my blood father was so maybe just maybe, I was the one who’s heart was cold, maybe I was the one who stopped the bond from forming. Maybe I was the one that pushed and pushed my step father away.
Maybe, I was the problem.
Since having my real father in my life, feeling a fathers love for the first time, seeing his eyes alight with pride at the smallest of things even when all I’ve done, is smile.
To that quick look across the room, of reassurance, when he knows I’m struggling.
To those silent shoulder squeezes asking if I’m ok.
To the listening, I mean truly listening and those simple words of comfort.
To the belly laughs, private jokes, dry sense of humours that we share.
To even the silent moments when we are totally at ease.
To the way he loves me unconditionally, a love only a father and daughter shares.
To finally feel love like that, is one of the most beautiful and special things life can give you.
A fathers love. 💗