A little bit about my father

I have been visiting my father.
My father is a very strange man, and for me now, he is strange in a very good way.

He lives long up in the forrest by himself, in a house that you barely can call a house, but its a wonderful place.
The backyard is filled with all kinds of random twings, like an old cow cranium nailed to a wooden plank, a bathtub, a sofa sitting-gorup, a tractor, a large sculpture you can play and make music on, a tiny house for kids to play in, lots of flowers spread all over, and a huge pile of screwdrivers and other tools.

The house, which is all made of wood, has floors that cracks when you walk on them, a crystal chandelier hanging from the roof and all kinds of paintings and drawings he has made himself on the walls.
He also has a fox that comes and visits him now and then, which has gotten pretty tame and accustomed to him.
He is about 1.78 cm tall, constantly looks like he hasn't shaved for about a week (which I dont think he has either) and he has black and some grayish hair. He is an extremely social and outgoing man, but also a lonewolf.

I think in the beginning, as a kid, I looked up to my father a lot, but it changed through the years.
He and my mom split up when I was born and one could say that he left us both, even though I think he saw me like onse a year or something like that after I was 3 years old.
When I was 3 my mother decided too look above all the argument they've had, and contact him so I could meet him. This was after an incident where she found me outside on the doorstep yelling "father" "father" to the sky and the clouds.
I think he was my hero for a short period of time, until I just felt betrayed and really not seen or appreciated as I yearned for, and after this realization I closed my heart for him. At this time he was highly narsisistic and had a lot of anxiety.

I had some sporadic contact with him through the years, but very rarely. Until I was a round 10 years old, when he suddenly came back all dyeing to take up what had been wasted these years. Now he wanted to be a dad.
I think it was waaay to late. It had been too late already at the age of 4 when I closed myself in grief and loss.
But, we then started to meet up every 2nd week. Mostly because he and my mother insisted, I felt forzed. My mother with the argument that having a fatherffigure would be good for me, and maybe we could mend the old wounds.

This is my father making an ice-sculpture

My fathers intentions remained unspoken.
This continued until I was 15, when I got a burst of anger, was fed up wit a lot of his childish and narsisistic behavour (at that time) and broke it off with him for 9 years.

I think he has struggled a lot throughout the years, but now he seems to have found a lot more peace. I have just gotten to really know him the last two years, after deciding to contact him again, and now I think he is a wonderful, funny, sweet and creative guy, which I actually love to hang out with.

Pictures of some sculptures my father has made (Most of them are sound-sculptures, which he has had conserts on)