How would you describe your dad?

In real life I’m Jr. my dad gets a chuckle out of my name here. I’m basically a younger version of him with more honesty and empathy but without the work ethic. He’s pretty good guy overall.

How about your pops?


Gone. That said he was a bad motherfucker in all ways. Smart, tough and capable.


A kind harmless dude. Not a great provider, had many flaws, but always did his best to be a good dad. Lost him 16 years ago, still love and miss him very much.


Marine Corp Vietnam Veteran with severe PTSD that wasn’t addressed until I was already a grown man.


Absent. Angry. Disappointment.


Died in March. Tough old bastard. Played rugby against the Springboks (South Africa) and the Wallabies (Australia) as a second row forward and was known as a hard man in his day. A whisker away from Olympic selection at Water polo too.

Aside from all the sport stuff he was just Dad and I miss him terribly.


I feel for you guys and I dread the day


Very cold and distant to me and sometimes very cruel. Basically wanted nothing to do with me. He’s been dead for 27 years and I don’t miss him one bit.


I got a lot of questions, but doubt I’ll ever get the answers.

Good guy or bad guy? Unknown. Suspect the latter though as the years pass, so have distanced. Shitty situation all around, but very messy. Instead of having a massive, world ending blow out fight where some ugly shit would come out, everyone seems content to just go separate ways. Content w that as people are old now, amazed some in fam still alive.

I find i care far more about what my kids think of me than I care about any situation w my dad. He exited the family in many ways, repeatedly over the years.


violent psychopath


Well-meaning but very flawed.


Mine was a cunt


He was a miserable prick while I was growing up and I hated him. He is elderly and mellow now, I’ve forgiven him and now we have a decent relationship.


My Dad was an alcoholic in my younger years and he and my mother had serious marital issues. And you could say I suffered for it. My mom had enough and left. The day she left, He quit, cold turkey and never looked back.

I think about this a lot. The will power and fortitude he had in that moment was bad ass and it also showed what was important to him. He is guy who is actually well known in his industry and well respected. His work ethic unparalleled, his patience and gentle nature unrivaled.

I could say so much more… but to sum it up… I have so much respect and love for this man.

My Dad may not be able to beat up your Dad but he is a badass nonetheless.


Aren’t we all.


A true asshole, but mechanically smart, strong, tough, brave and a hard worker.


My was a different breed. Born in 1932. He was a Marine durning Korean War but didn’t fight in combat. Honestly all I know is he was stationed over there during that time. He was a hard worker and great provider. The man never lost his cool. Never raised his voice, never yelled. He didn’t have too. He was a short, stocky man but was very intimidating. His hobby was cars. I know he did some street racing back in the 50’s. Did a few dirt track races. He had a couple different 69 Camaros, and old Ford roadster. His baby was a 1932 Ford roadster. He pretty much built it in the garage. He had someone do paint and upholstery but he did everything else.

He died in 93 when I was 19. I’m 47 now and think about him almost every day. Miss him terribly.

Now…if you guys don’t mind Im gonna go sob a little


Just cherish the fact that you had a good relationship with him. That’s something a lot of people never get…


Grew up on separate continent raised by single mom. When I’d visit he’s more like an uncle, he wasn’t used to parenting, he got me into watching UFC when I was 8. When I was 15 I was 15 he took me out drinking in Tijuana and was negotiating with two prostitute’s to have a threesome with me before I chickened out. (On the drive down I’d followed thru and had dirty underwear, I forgot to bring extra)


My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we’d make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it’s breathtaking, I suggest you try it.