My father.

Day #2 of NaBloPoMo and I am really dreading this entry. I told my Mom last night, "It's going to be to write about my father. I know it will. What am I going to say?"

Guess what today's writing prompt is? Tell us about your father.

Ugh.

I grew up in a very small town in Ohio that is broken down in two groups: People who know the truth about my father and People who think the Sun shines out of my father's ass.

Guess which group I'm in?

Leaving that town was one of the best things I did because my sisters and I were always viewed by many as "Jeff's kids who don't want a thing to do with him." In reality, wouldn't most people wonder what a person would do to make his three daughters never want to have a relationship with him? These were decisions made when we were young -- still in our teen years. Not in our small town. Apparently he bamboozled a lot of people into thinking he is a saint. He most definitely is not.

I won't go in to details here because, really, it's not my complete story to tell. The story belongs also to my two sisters, who he hurt much more than he ever did me. I was just ignored. Once my accident happened, he was done with me. I was damaged goods.

My paternal grandparents were celebrating their anniversary and I took Mark to the party. We had just become engaged and this was the first time he was going to meet my father. As we parked his Jeep in the church parking lot across the street from my grandparents' home, I took a few deep breaths and said to Mark, "You are going to meet him and will think I'm crazy for not wanting him in my life. But, you know the truth of what he did in the past to us. Please remember that." Guess what happened later that day, as we were leaving? Mark said, "You were right -- I would have thought you were crazy. He's very good at coming across as a great guy. But, I know the truth. And I'm glad you have nothing to do with him."

When Mason first met him, I had a small panic attack. How do you tell a four year old such a horrible story? You don't. I just said, "You are going to meet my daddy tonight. He is probably going to be very nice to you and I want you to be very nice to him." We went to a volleyball game while visiting my hometown (my mom kept the scorebooks for over twenty years) and my half-sister played on the team. I knew my father would be there. And, I was right. He was very nice to Mason, offering him some lollipops (shockingly AFTER he asked me if he could give them to him). Afterwards, he told me what a wonderful young man I was raising.

I hoped that night, my father caught a glimpse of the lives he didn't know. Small little interactions with these amazing grandchildren that he did not know. And more importantly, they did not know him. At that age, Mason was this adorable little kid, so polite, with the cutest sounding voice, and you just could look at him and know he was full of wonder. Who wouldn't want anything to do with him?

So, in the small town of Rittman, Ohio, many people believe his side of the stories. They never have stopped to think what he could possibly have done to my sisters and me to have us never want anything to do with him.

I am a good person. I've lived a good life. The same is said for my sisters. We are good people. With damaged pasts because of a father who didn't love us.

That is all I want to tell about my father...