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I had never said, 'dad, I love you.'

My father never once told me he loved me. I told him I loved him only one time - that was when he was sick. It was hard, the way he showed his love. I didn't understand what he was trying to teach me. Now I know, but it came too late for him to see it. After he was gone, I realized he was trying to strengthen my mind to make me better.

My father never liked me or my sister, and he never liked our mother either, after an initial infatuation, and in fact, he never liked anyone at all after an hour or two, no, no one except a stooge.

I never kissed my father until he was on his death bed.

I've never been desperate to please my father.

My father didn't push me.

I recall my dad saying about me once that the only time he'd ever heard me say 'never' was when I was asked if I'd had enough.

My father was a man of love. He always loved me to death. He worked hard in the fields, but my father never hit me. Never. I don't ever remember a really cross, unkind word from my father.

My brother never had me to dinner in his life.

I let my boy go and do and say pretty much as he likes, as, and perhaps because, my father kept no string on me.