My father was definitely antisocial as was his father was before him.  I swore I would never become like them.  In essence, I am what I was born to hate.

My father would lie and steal, manipulate and assault.  He had no regard for other human life and he showed that on a daily basis.  He disowned all three of his children at one point or another because we would not bow to his will.  He thought he was superior, but in the end he was very low-functioning.  These kinds of idiots are easy to win against.

He would constantly try to beat me as a child.  At first, I feared his beating that would leave me bruised and scarred, but eventually I learned that it was just a game.  By showing him that I did not fear him, he eventually gave up.  He realized he had no dominion over me and his feeble attempts to extort me as an adult would prove unfruitful.  The sibling to me closest in age was not as strong-minded as I.  The damage and manipulation of my, generally pro-social, younger brother would leave him shattered.  He has not recovered.  My older brother was as equally inept as my father and would try to leech off anyone that listened.  I know that I never paid attention to him and he resents me for it.  Antisocial tendencies run in this family and I have a perverse sense of pleasure in knowing that it will not continue – at least with me.

I realized early in life that my father’s activity was quite callous and cruel.  I swore that I would be different, that I would be a force of good.  For years, I considered myself a good person.  I would help others with their studies, work on community projects, and generally appear to be pro-social.  These actions helped me to ignore and bury the times that I was antisocial.  I had deluded myself into thinking that I was a benevolent force when, in actuality, I was benevolent only insofar it served me.

I had become (or more accurately, always was) that which I hated.  This disconnect no longer bothers me, but I realize from the generations that preceded me, that there was a strong possibility that I would go down the same path.  It certainly did not help that the nurture I received was less than adequate.  To what extent genetics have shaped me, my upbringing has shaped me, and random chance has, I will never know.  It might be best that way.