All my memories of my father were good until my late thirties when I started to have flashbacks. First, it was just a voice saying “good daddies don’t do that”. I would feel compelled to go to the attic to unearth these ancient ghosts. I fought against believing the flashbacks because I adored my father. He was funny and we laughed together. We played badmitton compulsively and competitively with each other. My mother was a dark, bitter character in my life, but my father was goodness, light and gaiety. My father’s love was why I could withstand her hate. But, the flashbacks revealed another side to my father — a bad father. When I confronted him about the abuse, it was the bad father who replied and called me a lying slut. Never again, did I have contact with the good father. So, how do we who have had bad fathers deal with Father’s Day? Maybe you mourn for the child who was abused instead of loved? I am no longer in contact with my father and am glad for that. But, I still miss the “good father” who laughed with me and took out my splinters so gently. Anyway, I just wanted to write a post for those of us whose fathers abused us to balance all the people celebrating fathers on Father’s Day. Some of us will just be quietly celebrating that we survived our fathers with our hearts and minds intact.