About my father (and, by extension, me), part I

My relationship with my father is complicated and problematic--although I would venture that this is virtually synonymous with simply saying "I have a father." My parents divorced before I have any conscious memory, and that fact puts me in the role of being a little weirded out by the thought of my parents as a couple. My dad wasn't really ready to deal with anything but minimal custody arrangements--he had oats to sow, and absolutely no clue about what one might do on when a two-to-five-year-old child visits for the weekend. We would watch movies and hang out in his series of bachelor pads (not the pimped-out kind, but rather the cinderblock-bookshelves-and-eating-ramen-noodles-over-the-coffee-table kind); girlfriends would come and go, usually only manifesting as only a vague presence on the edge of my awareness. In my preteen years, my dad met V--(I'm going to use the old 19th-century naming convention for the time being), who is still with him, although they are not officially married. While there is some friction with the family at large, she's been one of the most positive influences on his life and on his relationship with me (there are exceptions, but nothing that I haven't come to terms with).

Anyhow, there's certainly a lot more to this whole thing, and the pre-me history will be forthcoming at some point, as well as an airing of grievances and sundry other concerns, but the general focus of this effort will be on the day-to-day side of everything.