You’re a bastard child. Your dad is a worthless piece-of-shit who, as soon as he ejaculated in your moms cunt with that special little seed that would become you, popped smoke. He wasn’t there for your birthdays, holidays, or any of the significant events of your life. He wasn’t there to teach you about sports, cars, love, or bequeath you with worldly wisdom. He was a non-entity in your existence.

Or maybe your dad was a significant part of your life but was abusive and sadistic. Maybe he was a drunk, drug addict, whoremonger, or a gambler who pissed his money away on his vices. Regardless, he wasn’t someone who you could look up to or rely on to be a figure of masculinity you needed.

Now you’re an adult. As you try to find your place and calling in this world, you find yourself a bit lost, because you lacked a powerful, respectable male presence in your life. You begin to notice how much better adjusted the people who had two supportive parents seem to be. You wonder what a healthy relationship with your father would have been like and if things would have been different for you if such a relationship existed. You think of the lessons you would have learned and pitfalls you would have avoided if your “Old Man” was there to guide you along.

He didn’t tell you he loved you. He didn’t take you to the zoo. He didn’t hug you. He didn’t attend your big games. He didn’t teach you about sex. He never called to check up on you. He doesn’t know anything about you. He’s just a stranger who’s semen you spawned from.

Look at your state in life and your own flaws. Are you using his failures as a crutch for your own shiftlessness and shadiness? Have you lowered your expectations of what you think you’re capable of because you didn’t have the Old Man to give you a pat on the back? Are you playing the victim, justifying all your stupid decisions because Daddy didn’t show you enough affection?

So fucking what? You can draw power from that void in your heart and soul. You can use it as fire for your strength instead of kindling for your weakness. You’re an individual who can determine your own fate. You possess a mind that is capable of reason. With that reason you can entertain new philosophies, ideas, and ideals. You can embrace the ones that make sense to you, and discard those that don’t. You don’t have to be stuck in a cesspool of self-pity because Daddy didn’t read you a bed time story.

The great part of having a piece-of-shit father is that you don’t have to respect or admire him. You don’t have to become what he would have wanted you to become. You don’t have to live up to his expectations or seek his approval. You don’t have to pick up his bigotries, ideologies, or immoralities. You don’t have to love him, care for him, or think about him. Fuck that mother fucker!

Tell me where did you go
You had the world inside your hand
But you did not seem to know
Father of mine
Tell me what do you see
When you look back at your wasted life and you don’t see me
– Father of Mine, Everclear

Take responsibility and ownership of who you are. You can become a positive force of change when you become a parent instead of a purveyor of the vicious cycle of torment. He was weak; you can be strong. He was a pussy; you can be brave. He was unreliable; you can be dependable. He was cold; you can be warm. He let his emotions control him; you control your emotions. He made excuses as to why he couldn’t; you find reasons as to why you can.

Or you can be emotionally crippled for the rest of your life. Crying out “Daddy,” as you hug your pillow, soaking it with your bastard tears. Your arms scarred with razor cuts and heroin bruises because the world was so cruel to you to deny you a real father. You look pathetic. No wonder your daddy didn’t love you.