A Quote by apl.de.ap

I never met my father. He left before I was born. — © apl.de.ap
I never met my father. He left before I was born.
[My parents] met in university back in the '70s. And I didn't grow up with my father. He - they separated before I was born.
My father is Nigerian; my mother is from Texas and African-American. My father was the first in his family to go to university. He flew from Nigeria to Los Angeles in the '70s to go to UCLA, where he met my mother. They broke up before I was born, and he returned to Nigeria.
My father, born in Colorado, met my mother, born in Switzerland, when he went into the finance company where she worked and asked for a loan.
My father was born in Newark, New Jersey, and my mother was born in Philadelphia. They both went to Stanford for grad school and met there.
After the war, my father, Bernard, left the Army Air Forces to fly for Trans World Airlines. But after I was born, he retired from commercial flying to be with my mother, Anne, and me. I was born in Kansas City, Mo., but we left when I was 6 months old.
I was eleven when my father left, so neither of us really knew our fathers. I’d met mine of course, but then I only knew my dad as a child knows a parent, as a sort of crude outline filled in with one or two colors. I’d never seen my father scared or cry. I’d never heard him admit to any wrongdoing. I have no idea what he dreamed of. And once I’d seen a smile pinned to one cheek and darkness to the other when my mum had yelled at him. Now he was gone, and I was left with just an impression—one of male warmth, big arms, and loud laughter.
I was born five days before D-Day in 1944. My father was a mechanical engineer, which was a reserved occupation, so he didn't have to enlist. My mother was a housewife. She worked in a bank before marrying my father.
When my father was born, it was part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. When I was born, it was Lithuania. When I left, it was Hungary. It is difficult to say where I come from.
You'll hear guys talk all the time about coaches being a father figure. Well I'm 45 years old and I've never met my father. I consider Jerry Tarkanian my father.
My father had always identified himself as a writer to my mother when they met. When they met, he was writing this great novel, there was no doubt about it. Part of why she left him was this delusion of greatness and identifying it very directly with being an artist.
I never knew my father. He'd disappeared from the scene before I was born, and I still have no idea who he is. Perhaps strangely, it's never bothered me; I certainly don't believe it's really affected me.
I never met a person as determined as my mother. From working hard for six kids to just trying to keep the household down or maintain my father's discipline, my dad, I'm so much like my father too. My father was so introverted, quiet, shy, nice. I got attributes from my father and mother.
All through the nineties I met people. Crowds of people. Met and met and met, until it seemed that people were born and hastily grew up, just to be met.
Yes, but I - you know, it's been such a long time, I'm sure that I've got cousins and uncles that I've never met before, you know, that I've left behind.
I am the grandson of immigrants from Japan who went to America, boldly going to a strange new world, seeking new opportunities. My mother was born in Sacramento, California. My father was a San Franciscan. They met and married in Los Angeles, and I was born there.
My father and mother should have stayed in New York, where they met and married and where I was born.
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