It's two days past Thanksgiving as I sit here at my desk and type this out and I'm feeling especially grateful for the relationship I have with my father. Now, you might read that and think I'm one of those "daddy's girls" who had that perfect protector, that wonderful man who shows you who a man should be, and sets the bar high for the man who will one day become your husband. In my case though... that sentiment could not be further from the truth.
My father never wanted children but finally relented to my mother's incessant begging. I was the first one born to them. One of the earliest memories I have of my father was waking up in the backseat of the neighbor's car, seeing my dad in the front passenger seat and hearing him tell me that he was taking me away from my mother and that we would go back in a week or so to get my little brother. I was 5 and had just been kidnapped in the middle of the night after my mother had filed for divorce.
There was a very nasty custody battle...
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