I can’t remember a time up until a few years ago that I haven’t practically hated my dad. When I was little, most of my memories of him involved him yelling at some member of the family. One day he left, and my mom had three kids to raise almost entirely on her own. It’s not that I never saw him, but when I did, he would sit around watching (what my child self considered) scary shows on TV and yelling at my brother and sister and me for playing too loudly or asking too many questions. I remember that my mom never stopped loving him, even when he didn’t want to be a husband or a father. One of my worst memories is of him coming over and arguing with my mom. After he left that night, I saw her cry for the first and only time in my life.
Because of my issues with my dad as a child, I found it very difficult to have a relationship with him as I got older. Even when he grew up a little and decided to come home, I only pretended to be happy to have him back. He still yelled all the time for what seemed like no reason. I would often yell back at him when he started picking on my mom or siblings, because they never seemed to be able to stick up for themselves. Because of that, I tended to receive the brunt of a lot of his anger. Up until the age of about fourteen, I couldn’t even talk to him because I was so mad at him, even when he wasn’t doing anything.
It was my early high school years that he began to change. I think he finally realized that if he hoped to have any sort of relationship with me, he needed to control his temper. It happened very gradually—he stopped yelling at my siblings; he stopped yelling at my mom; and eventually, he even stopped yelling at me, and I stopped yelling at him. It’s been a slow process, but I’m proud of my dad for the positive changes he’s made, and I love him for valuing our relationship enough to make them.