When i was 4 or 5, i had a Tender Heart carebear that i LOVED. I took it everywhere with me. One of my first memories ever is my dad calling it “slender fart” to the point of me bawling my eyes out. He has never accepted that this fucked me up in a very deep way. The person i looked up to for protection was hurting me. For fun. I’m in my 40s now, and anything i start to develop an interest in, even to this day, comes with a sense of dread. “How can this be used against me?”
Irony of ironies, my dad now has in inoperable brain tumor. I’ve basically retired early and moved back in with my parents in order to be around if they ever need anything, which is every day. It’s crossed my mind more than once to return the favor and fuck with his addled old brain, but then, would i be any better than him? No, that misery he tried to breed in me stops and dies with me.