I don't know. I thought my dad was an abusive son of a bitch who liked to slap defenseless little kids around. He used to make us watch while he beat on the other one with a belt. He'd make us fight each other, too, and then he'd wail on the loser with his belt. I'm not sure he wasn't doing really improper things with my sister, but she would never say.
Sorry. it's the drugs. Don't listen to me. I don't know what I'm saying. Except I know I shouldn't be saying it. You don't need to know all that.
Mostly, if I let myself think about it at all, I just wanted someone to hug me and tell me he loved me, and everything would be okay. I don't think I would have believed it, though.