WomenCo.

Well, there could be something to that.  But what I only just recently realized was that whereas therapists over the years have tried to convince me that I entered abusive relationships because of my relationship with my Dad, it was really my MOTHER that was like that.  I kept telling the marriage counsellors and therapists that it didn't make sense, as my Dad and I were close.  It was my mother that was controlling, etc.  So, I'm not really sure, but I'm going to be following this discussion with interest.

Sarah

this is a good question, so it'll be interesting to see how many other women add to it. 

 My Dad was king of the castle despite the fact that my Mom worked, too. He set the rules and enforced them. If we needed confirmation that we were loved, we asked Mom. Dad was not demonstrative, but he was tougher on my brother than on my sister and I. Mom told me that my Dad changed when he was hurt at work when I was five. He had the opportunity to attend college when he returned from WWII, but he chose to work in a factory. Perhaps, those years overshadowed his former, more loving self.

When he improved, Dad returned to a different job and later went to technical school to learn a trade. My Dad is very smart and good with his hands. As a child, I marveled at the things that he could fix. He filled his waking hours with work.

The teenage years were difficult. Our family did not discuss problems. Dad yelled and we ran for cover. I do not know how his father disciplined because he died when I was a few months old. My grandmother was ill many of those years.

Often, Dad worked two jobs so he never attended school events until he came to a musical during my second year of college. The play was "Hair" and not my father's cup of tea. On stage, I could feel the hairs on his head stand up with each anti-war or risqué song. Then, thanks to a fog machine on stage, I fell during a number and hurt my back. I saw him stand straight up in the aisle and wonder if I was okay. The show must go on, but I sensed he was worried.

The only times I remember that my father cried were my brother's serious, car accident, my college graduation, my brother's graduation from basic training, weddings, the birth of his grandchildren, and funerals. He did not cry when I ran away; he just yelled when I came home and then grounded me. Until a few years ago, I still sought his approval, but I became dismayed at his nasty behavior. He acts like a spoiled child. I understand why he is that way because Mom is ill and his body is failing. Sometimes, I wish he would just hold me and tell me he loves me rather than yell at me when I do something special for him. Now that we have moved, every conversation we have lasts two seconds before he hands the phone to Mom. It is as if he does not know what to say.

My Dad is difficult to love, but I do love him. In my heart, I know he loves me although he rarely shows that emotion. Surprisingly, he does show love toward his grandchildren with more ease. Often, I wonder if I would have turned out differently if Dad had felt strong enough to demonstrate his love for me. It does make me wonder, what if?

stgreg11 says ...

 My Dad was king of the castle despite the fact that my Mom worked, too. He set the rules and enforced them. If we needed confirmation that we were loved, we asked Mom. Dad was not demonstrative, but he was tougher on my brother than on my sister and I. Mom told me that my Dad changed when he was hurt at work when I was five. He had the opportunity to attend college when he returned from WWII, but he chose to work in a factory. Perhaps, those years overshadowed his former, more loving self.

When he improved, Dad returned to a different job and later went to technical school to learn a trade. My Dad is very smart and good with his hands. As a child, I marveled at the things that he could fix. He filled his waking hours with work.

The teenage years were difficult. Our family did not discuss problems. Dad yelled and we ran for cover. I do not know how his father disciplined because he died when I was a few months old. My grandmother was ill many of those years.

Often, Dad worked two jobs so he never attended school events until he came to a musical during my second year of college. The play was "Hair" and not my father's cup of tea. On stage, I could feel the hairs on his head stand up with each anti-war or risqué song. Then, thanks to a fog machine on stage, I fell during a number and hurt my back. I saw him stand straight up in the aisle and wonder if I was okay. The show must go on, but I sensed he was worried.

The only times I remember that my father cried were my brother's serious, car accident, my college graduation, my brother's graduation from basic training, weddings, the birth of his grandchildren, and funerals. He did not cry when I ran away; he just yelled when I came home and then grounded me. Until a few years ago, I still sought his approval, but I became dismayed at his nasty behavior. He acts like a spoiled child. I understand why he is that way because Mom is ill and his body is failing. Sometimes, I wish he would just hold me and tell me he loves me rather than yell at me when I do something special for him. Now that we have moved, every conversation we have lasts two seconds before he hands the phone to Mom. It is as if he does not know what to say.

My Dad is difficult to love, but I do love him. In my heart, I know he loves me although he rarely shows that emotion. Surprisingly, he does show love toward his grandchildren with more ease. Often, I wonder if I would have turned out differently if Dad had felt strong enough to demonstrate his love for me. It does make me wonder, what if?

If he shows such love for the grandchildren with ease, it may be due to the fact that he has no other history with them.  He could be aware of his history with you, and he may not know how to get past it.  He may have the same regrets that you do, but he can't say it because there's too much water under the bridge.  Obviously, he cared about you if he stood up to see that you were ok and if he stayed to watch your event even though it was really rankling him.  I keep thinking of that film "On Golden Pond".  I know, life isn't a film.  But there were so many things in your post that reminded me of it.  "What if " really doesn't matter anymore, does it?  The future is all you have.  You learned how to be a good mother, and you'll have children who will remember him fondly.  Right?