An Ugly truth

I hate to talk about the past.  If I had my way, I would make it all up.  I suffered many years because I did not have something wonderful to say about my family.  I wanted to say that my mother did what the other mothers did.  I wanted to say that she baked cookies and made my birthdays memorable.  I wanted to say that my father made me a "daddy's girl".  Alas, I could not paint the picture of the lovely home with the white picket fence and a dog named "Spot".  It did not exist.  I hated that fact.  More than that, I hated the fact that the only words I could use to describe my family were the words no one wanted to use to describe their family.  I don't remember how long I suffered because of that.  One day, I decided that it would be what it would be.  I am going to let it stay wrong and not worry about it.  I am not going to try to explain it with finesse.  I have found that the truth should always be acknowledged even if it is an ugly truth.  I know it is a sad story, but it is the only story I have to tell.