My biological father was always more concerned with drugs than the well being of his children. Even after my mother left him because he would spend his money on drugs instead of food or bills. Throughout my childhood I barely saw my biological father. When I did it was for holidays or because he randomly decided he wanted to look like a good dad. When I would go to his house he would get annoyed that I didn’t just want to sit and watch tv, I actually wanted to talk with him and do something together to get to know each other. The most I could do to spend time with him was to have interest in what he was doing so he would give me attention. I would listen to him talk about cars, engines, tools, fishing, racing, video games, and music just so I could get attention from him. Just to hear him talk and to make me feel like I was finally a daddy’s girl. I wanted to know my father, I tried. And he had no interest because I was a girl and not a boy. When he would get tired of me I would go to my room, sketch, draw, and read while he smoked pot and got high in the garage with my step mom. He never learned anything about me, my interests, or who I was. He gave me pink windbreakers on my 13th birthday and some Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen video. I hated those girls and I hated pink! If he knew me he would have bought me ninja turtles and something yellow or green. He never sent money to help support us girls. On most visiting days I would see my Aunt and Uncle instead of him, because they actually took care of me. They listened and learned and my Uncle Richard gave me the father figure I needed as a small child. He called me his baby girl, he gave me the attention I wanted and needed. Ron, RJ’s father never did anything fun with us that I can remember. He always had a very dark disgusting side to him that I couldn’t quite understand, but always felt uncomfortable around him. Because he is the reason I am writing most of this, I will put most of his info in the abuse section and instilled beliefs chapter. But as a collective comment on him, he seemed to have good intentions in raising me and my siblings, but when it came down to it. He was a very selfish, rude, womanizing, abusive, alcoholic, perverted, waste of space in this world. And as for James, I don’t have much to say other than everything I have ever wanted in a father. He listens to me, comforts me, cares about me, teaches me respect and how to not be taken advantage of in this world. He helps me the way I need.