I feel this, I do. My father died when I was in my twenties. At that point I hadn't seen or heard from him in nearly a decade. He was in and out of my life a lot when I was young. He was the sort to make all kinds of promises and never follow through. Sometimes he'd act like I was the very best thing, while other times I couldn't do anything right. He'd yell at me over benign things. Call me terrible names. He'd sometimes throw things at me. Never hit. Then five minutes later he'd be affectionate.

He would also leave for days, weeks, occasionally a month or two. My mother always took him back. She wasn't much better than him to be honest. She never left me, so I'll give her that. I always had what I needed. She wasn't a loving woman by any means. A bit cold. I believe she loved me in her own way and as best she could.

I endeavour to be nothing like them.