Dad was the first man I fell in love with. He was a very funny man. He grew up in the East End of London and was very dynamic, and I understood why my mother fell in love with him.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
My father showed me so much love. He showed my brother so much love. He just, he had a rough life. You know, he grew up in a boys home in the Bronx. He didn't really know his own family. So I couldn't hold it against him that he didn't know how to parent. He didn't know how to be the perfect husband. But he loved as much as he could.
I wasn't close to my father, but I wanted to be all my life. He had a funny sense of humor, and he laughed all the time - good and loud, like I do. He was a gay Irish gentleman and very good-looking. And he wanted to be close to me, too, but we never had much time together.
I adored my father - I was more attached to him than anyone.
I'm a father myself for the first time in my life, and I had very very loving parents.
I loved my mother and father.
Of course I was in love with my father as a child. He was Daddy, and our house came alive in a special way whenever he walked through the door. He'd romp and play with us; my sisters and I would literally squeal with excitement when Daddy came home.
My father knew my husband long before I ever did. He actually always says that he loved him first... there really was this wonderful respect and admiration between the two of them before I even came into the picture.
My mother married my father in 1956. She was twenty-eight, and he was thirty-one. She loved him with a fierce steadiness borne of loyalty, determination, and an unyielding dignity.
My father was a beautiful man.
I remember seeing my father only twice as a child for brief visits. As I grew up, I invented a father who was larger than life - stronger, smarter, more handsome, and even holier than other men.