Day 11: The Worst Trait I’ve Inherited From My Parents
20 to go
Is it just a bad photo or is my dad’s expression incredibly telling? There was ten years between him and Mum. When they met, Mum already had three kids to her first husband.
My dad became a father when he was barely twenty; that’s far too young to take on three children who weren’t yours. I’d like to believe this is why he never won any father of the year awards, and why now, I have nothing to do with him.
Memories from my childhood are virtually non-existent, I joke about this being because a big red fire truck fell on my head and gave me a concussion.
I have few happy memories of my father. I remember making chocolate spiders with him while we holidayed in an old lighthouse cottage. I remember sprinkling chopped up olives over a focaccia we baked together while we holidayed in a farm cottage.
That’s it. That’s all I remember.
I remember a lot of some not-so-precious memories. Like the time I walked in on Mum and Dad fighting. Dad had mum pinned down beneath him, and held a broken lampshade to her throat.
Or the time where my childhood dog went missing and I couldn’t stop crying. My father boxed my ears in order to stop me from crying, or to ‘give me something to really cry about.’
