My father was taken away to the Communist reeducational camp after they took over the gorvernment in 1975. I was 2 1/2. He was released when I was 11. Even though my mom took me to visit my dad every chance we got, and we kept in close touch with him through letters, it was not the same as having him with us 24/7.
I vividly remembered the day he was released. I was playing in my neighbor's house, and my mom called for me to come home asap. I ran home to see my dad standing right in the middle of the living room.. My mom, my dad, my grandmother, my aunt, the neighbors.. all were crying. It took a few minutes for me to register what was going on.. then my dad knelt down to give me a huge hug. It felt very strange.
Since he wasn't there in my life for most of my development years - though not by choice.. and I knew that he loved me very very much through the many gifts he'd made for me every time my mom and I visited, and through the many stories my mom told me.. it did take me a while to accept his full-time presence in my life.
As I grow up, I understand the pain he must have felt not being able to be close to his family, that my mom and I were the reason he survived the years in the Communist prison.. and I love him so much, but everytime I see a father hugging, kissing, playing with his kids, I still feel sad that I didn't get to experience that when I was a kid.