I have a non-existent relationship with my dad.

The only girl in 5 children. Dad assumed I was a daddy’s girl. I wasn’t.

I have tried hard to dig deep but the fact remains that I have no fond memories of my father.

I don’t remember his drinking. I remember waiting in a car outside the pub. Mum told me he used to take his clothes off at parties and that he once drove drunk all night with us children in the back. I remember the yellow street lights because they gave me a headache.

We all learned to watch TV from the corners of our eyes. I still catch myself doing it. Mum says it was so we could ignore dad’s ranting.

Mum says he couldn’t hold down a job. I know we moved from Sydney to Perth mostly to give him a fresh start. I vaguely remember him being proud of himself the day he had to kill a sheep with a head full of cancer on the property he worked at.

I remember him cajoling me to take my swimmers off on a nudist beach. I wasn’t even 10.

Mum left Dad when I was 13.

The boys carried their dinghy down to the water. I didn’t go. Dad came up behind me and put his hand down my shirt. I ran back to mum but I didn’t tell her. I don’t know why.

My younger brother and I didn’t enjoy spending time with him so at some point we just stopped.

Then I became a parent. I made time for him because he was the grandparent. At my son’s 5th birthday party he followed me up the back door steps and touched me on my bottom. Something snapped. ‘Seeming’ memories flooded back. I will never know if they are truth. It doesn’t matter. I cut him out of my life.