I'll be real for a minute.
I hated my dad. He took me in when my step father kicked me from my own home at the age of 6 even though my dad was still living with his mother with his newish wife. He was nice sometimes. But more often than not he was always such a condescending person toward me. Degrading. Threatening. One of my punishments when I was 7 was having to copy down every single letter from 4 pages of the dictionary within a certain amount of time and if I didn't complete it before time was up then he would hit me. He's called me names. He took things away from me. Like my bed and door and flooring and lights. He denied me a social life because I didn't meet his expectations and I didn't have the motivation to sneak out anywhere. Never did drugs or drank. Never yelled at him and did my best to hold my tongue. He kicked me out of the house a couple months after graduation because I couldn't find a job within the summer when that school year I had visited the hospital 3 times for mental issues and had to go through a couple months of group therapy.
I didn't see him for a year after that. Growing up I always wanted something horrible to happen to him.

And yet
Last Christmas I finally got to see him again.
Someone explain to me why I clung to him like a child and sobbed out "I missed you, Daddy."