How long do you have?
My father's mother HATED my mother and I. She made darn sure my father doubted my mother, and therefore me, since day 1. She would not allow her precious son to move out of the house, even though he was married and expecting a child. She questioned him so many times about my mother that eventually, my father told my mother that he didn't think I was his child - even after I was born and looked just like him. My mother was not allowed to get a job, go shopping, cut her hair, or even leave the house while she was married to my father. She couldn't even go sit outside - the neighbors might see her!
After 2 1/2 years, Mom had had enough and called her brothers to pick her and I up. She packed a small bag for me and nothing for herself. My father "ran away" (he was afraid of my uncles...all three were Marines; one at the time was a police officer and showed up in uniform, in his cruiser). The next day, we arrived here in CT where I grew up with her and her parents. My father immediately filed for divorce. Thankfully, my mother got custody of me.
Now...my father was supposed to pay $25 per week child support. He did...but he refused to EVER raise that.
He was ordered to carry medical and dental insurance for me. He didn't..."it's too expensive."
Beginning when I was 5, I had to visit him for 4 weeks per year. He was ordered to fly here (Indiana to CT) to pick me up and vice versa, because a child that age "shouldn't" fly alone. He did come to get me...the first time. At the end of the 4 weeks, he put me on a plane BY MYSELF and from then on, every year, I was on my own - because "It's too expensive to buy plane tickets. If you want me to come get her" (he said to my mother), "you can pay for my ticket."
The year that I was 7 or 8 years old, he wasn't even at the airport to meet me (O'Hare in Chicago). I had to find my way to the baggage claim by myself.
He didn't pay any child support for those 4 weeks that I was with him. In fact, he demanded that my mother pay him.
When I arrived at their house, my clothing was taken away from me. I was presented with a box of garage sale clothing and that's what I had to wear.
My father never took time off from work to spend with me. I spent my days going to garage sales with his parents.
I was not allowed to go outside, because the neighbors might see me and steal me.
I was not even allowed to enter the bathroom by myself, because I might fall (I quickly learned to run in, shut and lock the door, but I'd come out to someone standing there with an ear to the door). Showers were impossible - I put my foot down when I was 12, but my father would stand right outside the curtain to make sure I didn't fall.
Around the age of 12, I learned what taxes were. I then found out that my father had LOTS of money in bank accounts that were in my name and SSN - and my mother, as custodial parent, had to pay the taxes on the interest.
He also filed his taxes during the first week of February every year in order to make sure that he claimed me as a dependent before my mother did.
In all, he spent 6 months of my life with me (that I can remember...I don't count my first 18 months of life because I don't remember anything).
Finally, the year I turned 14, his mother said to me one day, "I got your mother out of his life and I'm going to get rid of you, too." A few months later, he drove out here to CT for a weekend visit. At the end of the weekend, he sat down with my grandmother (Mom's mother) and I and proceeded to tell the most fantastical stories that I'd ever heard. His mother had told him that she caught me in his room, going through his drawers, looking for items that other people had given me over the years. She told him that I stole a bunch of toys that they'd bought and smuggled them out in my cassette cases. And many other things...we sat there for 3 hours, yelling and screaming and crying over it all. He eventually stormed out of the house, and the next day he left for home. We never spoke again.
The week of my 31st birthday, I was playing around with genealogy on the internet and checked the Social Security Death Index to see if I could find any relatives. I was shocked to find out that my father had died 6 months earlier. I eventually learned that he'd had a massive stroke on both sides of the brain, one week after his 54th birthday. I can't say I really felt anything and I still don't. He wasn't a father to me - from growing up with my mother's parents, my grandpa was my "dad." But now I find that I'm struggling with what I might tell my son someday when he asks why he doesn't have a grandpa here.