My father was emotionally and verbally abusive. There was almost nothing we could do right. He loved us, but that wasn’t apparent. He provided for us, but that’s not all there is to parenting. We were all left scarred by his constant assaults.

My parents separated when I was seven, after which we only saw our father on holidays or when he came to visit. He wasn’t in our lives and knew next to nothing about our lives. He was of the generation that viewed fathers as providers, nothing more.

Granted, it was a different time. I was around thirteen when he put his hands on my still developing chest and murmured approvingly. It didn’t feel right, but I had no idea how wrong it was. And you wonder why I don’t stand up straight.

Another time he punched the wall, only narrowly missing my mother. And only because my uncle intervened. With two of us in the kitchen. It made one wonder who would be next. I was lucky. He never laid another hand on me.

On multiple occasions he berated our mother, often with the use of a profanity, while simultaneously threatening to cut us off. We were like second-class citizens in his home – not family, his then wife playing the part of evil step-mother.

His approach to parenting was more hands-off as we grew. He did not approve of our choices yet did little to help or guide us. Even as adults we were not immune from his criticism. His mood was as unpredictable as his target.

Arguing typically made the situation worse. He was irascible and had no compunction about demeaning us. Even walking out did not yield the desired result. At best, there was a momentary reprieve for whoever remained.

We would ask our mother why she married him. He could be charming, was her response. I’m sure he had his moments. Notwithstanding the fact that he slapped her shortly before their wedding. Charming indeed.

To say he had a negative impact on our lives is nothing short of an understatement. I credit him for my lack of ambition, not to mention esteem, confidence, and self-worth. Especially in terms of my relationships with men.

I was always hopeful he would mellow with age. He was belligerent and scary until the end. Some months before he died, I asked him whether he had any regrets. “None” he said, quite seriously, and without a hint of remorse.

It took some time, but I have come to a place of understanding regarding my father. He was a businessman, first and foremost. And would have made a great bachelor. He just wasn’t the best example of what a father could be.