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My father is a character title Literally his real name is James. But people call him Buz, with just a ‘z. He likes to be the   and I will buy this center of attention. When I was a kid, whenever we took a family photo, he would lift his shirt to show off his hairy belly. And he still calls my grandmother every April Fool’s Day to tell Mom that I’m pregnant. Not everyone thinks he’s funny. There were a lot of people involved, and some of them had even vacationed at our home, eating at my table with me and my kids, without me knowing the nature of their relationship with my husband. Unaccustomed to the less well-heeled treading among us, I decided an interrogation was in order.I walked over to this fashion plate dressed in worn-out jeans, tattered tank top, cowboy boots, and long hair dripping out of his cowboy hat and asked, “Hi, is there anything I can do for you today, sir?” The first clue was that the front door was locked when I got home from work one day and I had to go around to the back door to get in. We didn’t usually lock the house, which I know sounds irresponsible, but we had a couple of pretty fearsome dogs at the time and the house sat in the middle of a fenced lot. A stranger couldn’t come anywhere near the house without getting through the dogs. (Also, we were pretty poor and I figured anyone willing to come through the dogs for what little we had, needed it more than I did.)

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This sounds awful title Can you tell her to stop? Talk to your dad or sibs. This is very disturbing to hear. It’s your body and you have the right to lock the door and say no. Talk to friends, teachers, neighbors, dad, or any adult. You can call DHS in her but make sure you have someone you can live with before in case they rejoice you. Lock the door and ignore her requests. Tell another adult. I heard them in the hall talking about sending her to the psych hospital. I was terrified and pissed they actually trying to get them to take her like she was. Finally, that got their heads out of asses and decide to admit my comatose daughter who wasn’t faking it. I went through several stages. I flipped out and cried for weeks. I had moments when I would dream up some idea of how we could bring our relationship back together – in a new and improved form. I tried to move forward calmly, then something would tick me off and I would fall apart. Once I kicked a hole in a closet door and rolled up in a ball on the floor wailing.

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