I swear I was raised to be a mob wife. Rumors true or false, I was. My father was very private. He divorced my mother when I was two years old. He will probably hate this book, unless it sells and makes millions. My father would always say “information is power”. He didn’t want me to talk about anything.
My father is a very smart entrepreneur. When I was young, we were poor. We didn’t answer the phone because it might be a bill collector. My dad once joked that he could water down the 3% milk and it would be just as good. Thankfully, I convinced him it was not the same thing. My dad worked hard to keep our house. He had dropped out of high school and taught himself computers. He had his own computer store for a few years, building and repairing. When Dell got big, he sold it. It was just too easy and affordable for people to buy new. After that, he became a computer programmer. My dad was self taught. He learned C++ himself by a book. He got big contracts consulting on IT.
My dad has always been my hero, even though our relationship has fallen to pieces. I’m sure he would be happy to read that. When I was 16 years old my dad bought a house without a room in it for me. He suggested I get my own place, saying he moved out of the house at 15. My Florence, his mother, told me he was actually 23. Maybe he was barely home, I’m not sure. I do know I did find a place and cried last minute. My mom moved me into her place full time. It was the middle of winter and it was an hour walk to my work. I was still in high school. I wasn’t ready to live alone.
I think I could have handled it. I could have afforded it. I don’t think my father thought I was university bound. I was on and off with school. I was dating a guy in his thirties. I was a bit of a trouble maker. He didn’t know I was talking to Chris. I never talked to him at my father’s house, I saved that for the weekends at my mother’s. I don’t even think I had a computer at my father’s in high school. I could do my homework at the school library. Essays I could write ahead of time at my mother’s. I made it work.
The weird thing with my dad and I was that maybe I didn’t ask for enough. The rules were set in early childhood. The rules stuck. In the end I have two half brothers and a stepsister. My dad is on his third wife. I haven’t seem my dad since right after Florence’s funeral. The last thing he said to me was a text “when’s your birthday?”. My nana left me some money.
I miss my father. I wish he was back in my life. I doubt that will happen. I don’t even know how to get a hold of him. I find it fairly ironic that I am the one in the family to write a book, since my step sister is the one who finished university with an English degree. I took one year of biopharmaceutical studies and dropped out.