My father isn't what I think of when I think of a typical feminist. Machismo flowed from this man like butter. He didn't like "loud broads" or chicks who didn't fall in line. Women could have jobs, but also had to cook and clean and be the perfect housewife. Sometimes, I don't know how my mother

I'm a daddy's girl — always have been, always will be. As a child, I looked forward to Thursday afternoons when my dad would work a half-day and be home by the time I got home from school. Every other day of the week, he worked long hours at his private practice as a general practitioner, never

Fathers, dads, papas — whatever you call them, they all have a special ability to lift you up with their support and love or crush your very being through either intended or unintended cruelness. Or at least that is how I imagine it to be. Because how would I know? My father technically left when I

As an adult, I look back on my relationship with my father and realize that it was full of broken promises and disappointments. But what becomes clear to us as adults is often overlooked when we're children. As a kid, all I wanted was for my dad to love me, to spend time with me, to tell me

“We need to have a family meeting.” A what? We were not a family-meeting type of family. We didn’t have long sessions where we talked about our feelings or our days. I was home on break during my first year of college and just wanted to count down the minutes until I was back in my dorm,