Chapter 8 - D*ddy Issues

StellaA20

Chapter 8 - D*ddy Issues. Hey Dad I've written a blog about you.




I've got daddy issues. Not in some pervy fantasy ooh daddy way, you know the sort of filth you'd get back if you typed "daddy" into the search box of a transsexual porn website, as if anyone would. But actual real daddy issues about the guy who wasn't there whilst I was growing up, and you're going to help me sort them out. I believe that blogging my stuff had been massively therapeutic, especially to someone like meself who isn't totally in touch with how they really feel about things. I'm not overly sure why I'm doing my amateur self-psychoanalysis therapy thingy in public, but I remember Lennon doing similar on his first solo album, and I'd follow him anywhere. Just so long as I don't end up stuck with a squeaky Japanese lady or god forbid, a son called Julian. Sorry Liam there's only one Lennon, maybe you didn't really wanna know that.




I'm not on familiar ground here but as far as I understand, talking about daddies in a non-hetero sense can mean something else, you know not necessarily referencing the guy who fecked your mum. The word could have dodgy connotations. In fact, I starred out the word in the title to get it through the censors, just in case. I know I'm on the moderator's watchlist, but I do think we get along so much better these days with my new fake sensibleness.




I hardly know my dad at all. Haven't seen him for twenty five years. Nineteen ninety seven it was, so near enough. I took my wife to be and my kids down to the south coast for a few days, to stay with him and his missus. At the time I hadn't seen him for years, maybe I was trying to show him look I'm a man now, a family man. Not that he'd have appreciated that. I remember my wife being annoyed with me (for about 20 years) and her trying to bury me in sand on the beach with a kid's spade and my dad finding her a real one to use. He probly wished he'd have thought of that himself 25 years earlier. Mind you he achieved his hidden goal anyway.



Best if I start at the start. Me folks split up when I was young, me mum got thick yellow custardy of us, it didn't work any other way back then and she actually wanted us. Me dad would pick me and sister up now and then for a few hours and then return us like somebody else's children. He'd feed us at mealtimes and stuff, he wasn't cruel to us but he was always very gaurded with his feelings, something I ended up being. I never knew what he was thinking, or if I'd pleased him or not. He'd spend a lot of this time asleep on the sofa whilst me and sis watched TV. I loved football, we did try to mimic carlos a couple of times but he wasn't into football, it was rugby where he was from. He liked cricket but I didn't get cricket until I was sofad with a football injury watching Antherton's dirt-in-the-pocket test match brilliant test cricket rocks. He watched me play junior footy once, criticized my tactical acumen in fact took it apart but not so great when it came to explaining what I should've done. Maybe he did, I didn't get it.



He had us for some holidays in his nice big house when we were older, first together then separately with a respective best friend. He never took the time off work, I was mooching round his mansion bored getting up to no good including rummaging through and sneakily wearing his wife's underwear.



After the divorce we didn't have a phone at home till I was eighteen. Mum had some bad memories of dad's bird ringing then hanging up if she answered so can't blame her there. I'm still not wholly comfortable on the phone rather look someone in the eyes an none of that Video call shyte. Was never in regular contact with dad growing up just occasional visits, wasn't like I knew him enough to talk to him about anything. Bit wary and scared of men due to not really knowing any. Missed out on how to act in social situations with other males until the pub, not the best place to learn. Didn't know how a man treats a woman. Was a loner at times growing up, not particularly helpful, fairly clueless most of me life, maybe a bit better at it now with wisdom acquired from experience maybe not.



Money, he had loads. Big shot in the new world of IT and was paid accordingly. Big money back then. He owned a massive detached four bedroom mansion back in the eighties which he bought new. And paid off the mortgage fairly quick, I know this thanks to an old friend who worked at the bank where he had said mortgage. Sadly that was the extent of my insider friend's help. But he was clever, my mum had to take him to court to get any maintenance money off him at all whilst his kids were enjoying their free school meals and second hand clothes how fecked up is that? He bought us mostly rubbish christmas and birthday presents no pocket money blah blah.



I think he's still alive, are you out there dad? He might've taken a TV turn late in life and be here on the website in stockings or whatever frank bough used to wear in private. I've fecked up now because in me blogs I've rambled on about me me so much anyone could read up and pretend to be my dad. It's not like I really knew him at all and I'm rubbish with faces. I know I wouldn't remember him from all the great times we had together. I don't think I hate him, let no man bring me down so low etc just wish he'd have put more in, would've been handy, his only son may not've turned out such a confused feckup. We're talking about me here, I'm a bloke really don't be fooled by the pictures of the stunning babe on my profile boom boom.



Not that I don't enjoy wearing womens clothes hang about it's always been one of the most exciting things in life. But my life would've been different with some fatherly advice. Ok he taught me how to play chess. But I think I'd be better off if he'd tackled me at footy or we'd wrestled or summat. I was never shown how a football league table works, or how to change a carburetor and still don't, must be a gun you keep in the car.




I think I've been building up to this bit. So he had tons of money, he's now in his mid seventies and me and sis are his only children, that anyone knows about. Perhaps he feels bad about being a rubbish dad and wants to make sure me and sis are set up for life when he buys the farm. But if that were the case, I suspect he'd have made an effort to get in touch by now. Not that I've made much effort meself, I just couldn't be arsed. Obviously I'd like tons of free money, who wouldn't, but I don't think they'll be any coming. I'm not sure this guy deserves any of my time so best just to leave it alone, and if a massive cheque arrives then I'll spend it righteously, after seeing my own kids set up first. Thanks Dad you must have taught me how to be a father after all. This blog was supposed to help me explore my feelings about my dad but as it's turned out to be a lengthy bitter tirade about him, that must be how I feel. Self-discovery, you really can't whack it.




Love, Stella X

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