I hated my father long before I knew there was a word for hate.
Saints make wonderful grandfathers and lousy husbands.
If not for sports, I do not think my father would have ever talked to me.
My mother thought of my father as half barbarian and half blunt instrument, and she isolated him from his children.
Basketball allowed me to revere my father without him knowing what I was up to. I took up basketball as a form of homage and mimicry.
My father wouldn't let me take typing in childhood.
I loved my parents... but that can never change the fact that my father's violence ruined my childhood.