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largely my early years were like his. My Dad was absentia.

My first really good memory of my Father was him watching wrestling with me as a boy. I think that is why to this day, I hear the name Ric Flair, or Dusty Rhodes, and I get a warm feeling inside. He used to joy at watching me imitate them, and I would revel in the attention it would bring.

It was the first time that I connected the fact that if I did something outstanding, it would buy his affection. At that point, I poured myself into my studies. I was starting kindergarten and was already reading the newspaper. I could draw, and I didn't let a day go by without having a picture to show him when he got home.

I always felt that if the picture was good enough, then he would want to talk to me longer.

Around second grade or so, I started to realize that my Mom and Dad fought constantly. I had now begun to use the same tactics I had used to get Dad's attentions, to try and stop them from fighting. When I felt one coming, I would draw out a masterpiece, or any number of other things I had become good at.

In sixth grade, still largely unnoticed by my Dad, (at least outwardly), I was told that Mom and Dad was going to divorce. My Mom wanted it. My Dad did not. The war was fairly brutal and my sister and I were right in the middle.

I remember feeling as though I had to make a choice. Before long, I did have to, and the choice was easy. I would go with my Mom, as she was always my biggest champion.

My sister went with my Dad, and the separation was complete.

The visits were commonplace at first, and very uncomfortable. My Dad would vary between trying to make up for lost time, and trying to move on with the new women in his life. His attempts to make up for lost time were lost on me, however, as they were plied with money, not time.

My mother remarried and I was lucky enough to gain the best Father in the world in my stepfather. He has been all I could ever hope for in a Dad, but that is another story.

As I drove on with my life, I never really felt like I knew my Dad. I made attempt after attempt through the years to connect with him, but a new relationship with a new family was always in the way. My Dad kind of divorced me along with my Mother and I felt powerless to stop it. Oh he would see me around Christmas, and always give me stuff, but I was looking for a Dad.

As I began my adult life, my Dad had remarried, and we became even bigger strangers. I tried very hard to change this, but after years of rejection, I

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