Vidal Sassoon Quotes

I remember when I was a little boy my father didn't love me; he couldn't. He loved my older brother but he couldn't love me somehow, at least not in a way I could understand it.

I profoundly feel that people are letting you down all the time.

My childhood was bad. No father. Mother was greedy and brought me up awful - never made me breakfast once. I don't want to get started. One story is worse than another.

Somewhere, sometime I'd stopped expecting my father to father.

My parents just neglected me, I wasn't abused or anything.

I remember being a kid and praying in the hell of my house to have somebody love me and somebody that I could love.

I don't think my parents liked me. They put a live teddy bear in my crib.

It's the same old story you've heard a thousand times. Somebody's trust gets broken. Somebody's left behind.

There was a lot of brokenness in my family. Let's just say that I was raised by my grandparents.

They say that abandonment is a wound that never heals. I say only that an abandoned child never forgets.

Most of my childhood memories of my father are of being ignored. I was his namesake, but nothing I did ever pleased or even interested him. He enjoyed telling me I couldn't do anything right.

I didn't grow up with my father in my life, and that bred a resentment in me, and it bred a mentality in me that made me very angry.

I was in the orphanage in New Orleans until I was almost a year old. I don't think I ever got held by my mama, so that was completely and utterly traumatic. I think it was trauma from the first breath, and I think I've spent my whole life trying to heal from that trauma. So it shaped my brain.

When I came out, everybody in my life that said they loved me unconditionally turned around and said, 'Never mind!'

I felt abandoned at a young age. That's where most of my anger came from, I guess.

I built up so much hatred for my parents, like so much anger for the life they had given me.

My mother, Carole Hedges, was my world until she walked out of our house when I was 7. Actually, she didn't walk out. Alcohol walked her out.

No matter how many times she was told that she was loved, there was no recognition that the proof was in the abandonment.

Her face crashes. She hasn't dealt with a single transfusion or lumbar puncture. She wasn't allowed near me for the bone-marrow transplant, but she could have been there for any number of diagnoses, and wasn't. Even her promises to visit more often have faded away with Christmas. It's her turn to taste some reality.

What was I supposed to be, growing in your womb -- assuming it was even in our womb that I was conceived? A seed of hope? A ticket purchased to ferry you from the dark? A patch for that hole you carried in your heart? If so, then I wasn't enough. I wasn't nearly enough. I was no balm to your pain, only another dead end, another burden, and you must have seen that early on. You must have realized it. But what could you do? You couldn't go down to the pawnshop and sell me.

I was about six years old, still Daddy's little girl, even though Daddy couldn't care less about me. How could I expect any man every would?

I never experienced any feelings of closeness and caring from my parents.

The little things that made up the fabric of the first six years of my life were suddenly ripped away, and I didn't have anyone around me who loved me. Not one single person.

I think I'm extremely vulnerable and that in some ways I seek out rejection. Never feeling like you're getting that pat on the back from dad is probably at the heart of that.

I am racking my brains to find out why he left without saying goodby to me.