I don't have memory if it. In fact...I have no memories with my father prior to age 9.

In the oldest memory I have, we were watching a movie. There were no strict rules in my house about what movies could and could not be seen. We were trusted to make those decisions and typically chose appropriately. I couldn't tell you what movie it was...I couldn't tell you if anyone else was in the room. I know the movie took place on a plane. The plane was hijacked and passengers were held hostage.  I remember they were forced to strip down and wore only blankets. Possibly to make sure they had nothing that could be used as weapons. Possibly to make them vulnerable. In my memory there was only one child on the plane. A girl. 

That's the scene I remember. The details may not be completely accurate...but what I felt during that scene has never left me. When I saw the girl come out. Though her body was covered. I felt every bit as exposed and vulnerable as she did. In that moment, if anyone else had been in the room they no longer were. I was exponentially aware of his presence in the room and I made myself small and wished myself invisible. 

Looking back it never made sense to me that I felt so strongly or held onto that memory for so long. It's now 22 years later and I can still feel it. 

Almost all memories involving him before that moment are lost. After, I was distant. Before the expected distance of teenage years. I was always so uncomfortable around him. I hated being touched. I avoided hugs from anyone but especially him. 

My parents argued often. Always attempting to get us kids to take sides. Sometimes my mom was right and I'd make a comment in her favor. Mostly I kept to myself. I never took his side. His anger often turned on me. He blamed her for me hating him...usually. The first time he said it...well the first time I heard him say it...I was standing nearby. He spoke as if I wasn't there at all. He accused my uncle of raping me and blamed him for my distance toward him. I was probably 11. I knew He was wrong. Since that moment it was never far from my mind that perhaps it was He that had done something to me and now had begun to blame others. It made sense. It was the only thing that could explain why I felt so different and so uncomfortable around him for seemingly no reason. 

He made similar accusations three times that I am aware of. Never saying them to me directly even if I was close by. I think he knew better. 

The comments he made to me were that he missed me. That he missed his daughter. Then he would reminisce of playing boyfriend/girlfriend with me and cuddling. He would ask if I wanted to play or invite me to sleep in their bed (or his bed if my mom was out of town) "like I used to." It was long last an age that it was an appropriate comment. He'd say it jokingly. In a way that would pass as just playing around. But it made me sick to my stomach each time.