Day 3: My Parents

So far with this blog challenge, I try to think about what I'm going to write the day before I start writing to tell me what direction I should go in. But then I got to this doozy. Honestly, I don't know where to begin. I knew it was going to be short and lacking major detail because I'm finally coming to terms with my fucked up childhood and I don't really want to reopen the wounds that it took me so long to finally close. I guess I'll start with my mother. Um, this is hard. We don't get along. We never really have. As a child, I always promised myself that I'd never be like her to my kids. I swore that my child would never know disappointment and sadness from their mother as I did. I think I'm doing pretty good. I do, I always have, and I always will defend my son to the death. My son adores me and I adore him. I'll never play favorites. My son will ALWAYS know that he is loved. I will always support my son. I'm not going to throw checks at his problems the way my mother did. I don't talk to my mother because she brings me pain. She doesn't understand me, and she refuses to accept me the way I am. So the love I never got from her, I make sure to give my son. *Sigh* That's all I can really say without getting mad as hell and cursing.

Now on to dad. My dad and I are closer. I remember days where my sisters would call me fat and stupid. And I'd call my daddy. (oh lord, I'm crying now). My daddy told me that I wasn't fat and stupid. That I was beautiful and smart. My daddy showed me the love that my mother refused to. I can talk to my father about anything. My father showed me the love that a parent is supposed to show their child. While my mother encouraged me to drop out of college so that I could move out of her home, my dad pushed me to keep going. I've got a bachelor's degree because of him and I even gave him the diploma, which he hangs proudly in his home.

Those are my parents.