Just how good or bad was your father or his influence over your life?

My father is 81 and still works. That’s what I remember about him even now. The only time he was sitting still was reading the paper or watching TV, and those activities came after the lawn was mowed.

I have many good memories of my father along with some things I wished he’d done differently.

For a man born and raised in abject poverty in the dust bowl during the Great Depression, he really has come very far and achieved a lot.

I can say that I love him.

My father played a big role in making me what I am today. I don’t remember him ever praising me. I think I’ve spent my life, in one way or another, seeking out that praise. I’ve set impossible goals for myself because only the impossible would impress him. I’ve transferred this idea to everyone—believing that if I’m not perfect, I’ll be ejected.

Since I know I’m not perfect, I know I’ll be ejected sooner or later. Often the waiting is just too intense, so I try to precipitate the crisis, just to get the bad part over with.

Now that I’ve realized all this, I’m trying to stop doing these things that sabotage myself,, and I’m trying to seek out places that are more generous with their praise than I’m used to experiencing. I’m trying to learn how to hear praise if it comes.

I guess my father played a big role in formulating my character. I’m not sure I’d say thank you. But that’s long past. As always, the future is a new place and one can pretend the past never happened if one wants.

My father is a great father. He’s very kind and willing to help when he can. He worked long hours when I was growing up, so I didn’t see him that often. He did take us on his business trips to Lake Tahoe, San Diego and Arizona, and he made sure to stay an extra few days to have time with just the family. Those are the moments that I remember fondly.

My father is a great influence, and I’m much like him. Quiet, supportive, gentle and kind.

Wow. I could go on and on about how I feel about my father. To sum it up. I love him dearly, but sometimes hate his behavior. He can be the sweetest teddy bear in the world (6’4 300+lbs) or the meanest. He tries extremely hard to do the right thing just like I do, but does not know when enough is enough. But I love my daddy!

@wundayatta : Good to see you and good to hear you’re working through your difficulties.

The best thing my father contributed to me was all his dominant genes. I’m so much like him it’s scary. Unfortunately, he wasn’t around much in my life, always going out to sea, then divorcing my mother, my mother spent a lot of effort (as many divorced parents do) turning me away from him. Only now as an adult do I really get a chance to connect with my parents without the pressures of being in a broken home.

The influences my father did have on me, though, were my personal interests and hobbies. Any time he picked up a hobby, he made it a point to give me a taste, and usually I was hooked. I’ve enjoyed many new things I wouldn’t have bothered with if not for him, and feel I’m a richer person for it.

I am told that when I was a little child, my father showered me with presents and bought me the fanciest dresses…I am told that when were being chased by people because we were Armenian, he carried my great grand mother onto a ship and paid off a dozen of people to ensure that my entire family makes it to the southern tip of Russia…I do not remember him being involved in raising me but that was ‘women’s work’ and he was out doing ‘manly things’...I remember him making me tell him I love him and how I found that uncomfortable because I didn’t…I was 11…when I was 13, he threw out my witchcraft altar in yet another alcoholic rage and I denounced him as my father…I never took back my words or my decision…as I matured, he was the person behind my mother’s whispers and negotiations, The Barrier to many of my aspirations…yet, when I wanted certain things that my mother would be against (and partly this was because my brother by then has passed away and my father decided to turn his attention to his daughter), he would encourage her to allow me to go live in the UK and in South Africa…

My father never knew me because my mother would constantly say he couldn’t handle the truth about my sexuality or activism or ideas…I think he knew more than she thought but I never looked to him for support, just looked at him in disgust as he drank and screamed and continued to be a source of fear in my mother and in all of us because we ‘couldn’t disturb the peace’...nothing was only dark, though…I inherited/learned my father’s work ethic and his ability to make tough decisions in difficult situations…I inherited his foresight and compassion for others (though his compassion only extended to white people of ethnicities he approved)...when he needed help with something he couldn’t understand, he would only trust my judgment (all the while he’d put me down in other ways)...when he found out he had cancer, I was there throughout his entire cancer journey and I was there to declare him dead and there to put the last piece of earth on his coffin…I breathed easier upon his death, this is true, but sometimes I do wish he’d be here to see my children.

I have a very good, fun dad. He has always been good for a laugh. He gave us everything we ever wanted in life. If I’d wanted the moon, he’d have gotten it for me. He’s never been a lovey dovey person. I can’t recall ever hearing him say “I love you” but I never had any doubt that he did/does love me.

We had our differences when I got to be a teenager, we are good now though. We have totally different views on just about every subject imaginable. I don’t think he has ever understood me, and I’m sure I don’t totally understand him. I guess we don’t need to. I’m his daughter and he’s my dad, and that’s all that matters, really.

I never knew the man who gave me his half of the 46 chromosomes. From what very, very little I’ve been told about him, it’s probably for the best that I didn’t know him.

Man, the stories I could tell about my dad. But I’ll stick to this one thought..Pops was a good dad and was a family first kind of man. Looking back, we didn’t have much but we always had what we needed. I appreciated him for always being there no matter what. I REALLY MISS YOU MY POPS!

OK….I abhore Father’s Day. My father was a Shriner and was killed drunk after a parade on his scooter before I was 2. he was drunk at the time. My mom remarried my uncle’s brother
( 2 sisters married 2 brothers) and he died of cancer less than a year later. I was about 6 or 7. That was my father experience. Except for the second step-dad, who looked like Loren Greene and was also alcoholic. I remember the sound of his shoulder sliding down the hall to go to bed at night.

See why I dont trust men.

My dad told me not to ever take shit from anyone. He failed to mention he meant anyone but him. Dad is okay, but he has always been an unknowable figure. The armchair commander of his own private little army. He took it pretty personal when I stopped taking his orders. He is smart, witty and a complete stranger to his entire family. His loss. Dad was a great influence, I don’t take shit from anyone including him. I also let people know the real me and I get to know the real them.

My father was the head of our household, and there was no disputing that. However, he was a loving and fair dictator, and extremely smart. He did the best he knew how.

Simply brilliant, no more words are needed.

I’m glad mine is dead. He got what he deserved.

I don’t have a bad word to say about my dad. He’s a great man who has taught me so much over the years. Even when he and my mother divorced and he moved away from the family home, he did everything he could to make sure that my brother and I didn’t miss out on a father figure. My dad and I have a lot in common and he is one of the few people that I feel I can be myself around.