Well...my dad was quite excited about me, but he worked a lot and wasn't home much - and then of course, a few "parts of this story" later, after we moved when I was 8, it all went tits up (which you read a bit about in my story about my father).

I know he did his best - my mum, did, too, although it was harder to accept her particular brand of hurtfulness.

She was at least as deeply wounded as I was, but thankfully, I was able to understand that I was hurting and I got help. She never thought she did anything wrong or that she had any emotional wounds at all. Too defensive, too insecure, couldn't admit she was wrong.

I felt more sorry for her than anything, eventually.

I appreciate you reading this, Chevie, thank you!