Apropos of a lot, here's a snippet from my forthcoming novel 415 101.
My dad told me that I was one of those people that no one actually liked; rather, I was just the kinda person you tolerated.
You could say that's a shitty thing for a parent to tell their child, especially if they don't try to apply a balm later, which my father most certainly did not. Thing is, my pop ain't lie a day in his life. Sure, back when he knocked back booze at a champion level he'd conceal the bottles in cabinets and toilets so my mom wouldn't sniff 'em out, but she eventually would, and she'd confront him, and he'd...fess up unflinchingly.
He never lied. He hated a prevaricating son of a bitch. I can hear him say it now, his gruff voice soundin' like Karl from Sling Blade doing a fair impersonation of Foghorn Leghorn echoing in my head.
And he wasn't lying to me. I really am not very likable at all. Lovable? That's off the table. That's off the floor too, actually, that's seeped under the carpet, under the tiles, into and through the dirt below, snaking shamefully to the center of the Earth where no one can expose it to light again.