My father's autistic. He was born in 1939. He tried to become a priest, but even he realized that gods were bullshit. He was never affectionate, never spoke to us 7 kids much. He worked in a mill, then when his wife, my mother, become psychotic he started long haul bus driving. Fucker left us to get beaten, stabbed and starved while he was on the road for 2 weeks at a time. I left home at 13. He was a useless son of a bitch who I have never had a relationship with. Now in his dotage he finds and repairs pre-WW2 metal and wood lathes so he can make the biggest wooden bowls possible. He competes with some other choad who lives 100 miles away and they sell them to the same people.

He gave me nearly nothing, yet he gave me whatever I have. He will leave me with nothing. He will die a poor man.

I don't love him, but after 50 years I can say I understand him.

I never had kids, during the time it was realistically a possibility I believed children to be the thing most certain to fuck up an already difficult life.

I haven't spoken to him in 4 years and the last thing we talked about was how difficult it was to use a particular kind of blade on a particular kind of wood. He doesn't have a shred of interpersonal skills.

I think what I would ask Reddit today is: How do you love when you were never loved?