2:29 p.m.
/
19 June, 2004

Sperm Donor's Day tomorrow. That's what we call it in my house anyway.

Spent ages looking for the right card. Finally got one that says: 'Sometimes I call you Dad, Sometimes I call you Father, Sometimes.... I call you for a lift home. Happy Father's Day'. I'm going to write in it later, when my fury at having to buy presents and shit for that irresponsible, self-pitying, violent, self-absorbed junkie bastard has eased a little. I get so mad that he makes me a liar for a whole day every year. As far as I'm concerned, my dad died when I was about six. I wish he had.

And, of course, the horror of The Nazi Stepfather was also in play. I had to go with the littlest brother to buy a present and stuff for his dad. I love that kid. He said:

"Let's just buy him a golf ball and wrap it in tin foil."

When I said that maybe he would expect more than that, he shrugged and said, "Okay, two golf balls." He's my boy, that one.

My other brother doesn't even bother with the whole charade at all, he never has. I mean, I suppose it would be impossible if the dude who helped conceive you pulls you to one side and tells you that he doesn't feel he could ever be a father to you. Dan's always known that he's in the world purely because Mum wanted him.

I really hate Father's Day. It just makes me aware every single time that it's not in me to forgive the evil fuckers who have hurt me and my brothers over the years. It also makes me resent my mum too, which I always feel bad about, because it was her fault they were in my life in the first place.