I had breakfast with my Daddy this morning.

We have a complicated relationship, my daddy and me. Mostly due to the fact that he went from being a self-absorbed-cheating-lying-alcoholic to being a church-absorbed-fanatic-Christian.

He is not the person I go to for advice.

He is not the one I turn to when I'm in trouble.

He doesn't really "get" me at all.

But a girl and her dad...well, there's something connecting us that I can't even pretend isn't important. He loves me - always has and always will - and the feeling is mutual. We make each other mad and disappoint each other often, but I've always known I was loved by my parents.

When my friends hear the details of my trailer-trash upbringing, they often look at me as if I must be lying. How could this seemingly normal (although occassionally on the psychotic Sybil side of normal) job-holding, law-abiding, woman come from such a dysfunctional mess as my family?

Because I knew they loved me. Always.

And because I was brought up to know I could do better if I was given half a chance. And I was given that half a chance.