Talking to my dad is like bashing my head against a brick wall..... painful.
He was never there when I was little. I was ten when I finally had the courage to ask my mother, “why doesn’t my dad love me?” She had this look on her face. That look a parent has when they admit to you that Santa Clause is real only if you believe in him. She gave me a big hug, and told me that he loved me as much as he could, but he would always love himself the most. This is the day that I started to hate selfish people.