In the beginning of our journey the girl referred to me as daddy. To say I was uncomfortable would be an understatement, not for the reasons some may think. How and where I grew up that word was not something you heard children call their fathers, but what women called men. Men that were not their fathers, these men were they guys who the girls were sweet on and also happen to be the drug dealers. Other times it was the men who had women who worked for them on what we referred to as the point (see the HBO special Hookers on the Point). So my knee jerk response in my mind was, “does she think I’m a pimp?” I knew she didn’t but she was there and I was here. In time and when she was finally here to stay I took to monitoring this word. We had one or two conversations about it, and although I understood how she became comfortable to use this word, but every time she said it my hackles would ruffle. This said something about me, than it did her.
Fast forward a year later and this word has never sounded so sweet to me.
If anyone ever tells you that being the one on top is a cake walk, roll up the New York Times and beat them about the head and neck. It isn’t, there are times I want to throw myself on the floor kicking and screaming, or times I want to pull the covers over my head and refuse to get out of bed, to eat worms as the girl would say.
I pull the covers off and swing my legs over and stand to face the day. I take the time to access what needs to get and be done and form a plan, then work on implementing it. I am responsible for how we succeeded or fail. I had to make a decision to send the girl to another state after three months of trying to achieve something here. It got to a point I wasn’t sleeping. I removed the collar knowing she was trying not to cry and took her to the airport to put her on a plane. I knew this would cause more stress for her and tried to not let my stress show. I got daily updates from her, but I not being there to help was a lesson in not having control. It bothered me, go figure?
Four days later I was back at the airport to pick her up, when I called out to her, she threw he arms around me hugging me. “Daddy, I’m home.” the escort turned away as I tried to pull her away and explain that I was here to pick her up. He said he figured as much as he walked away and I tried to thank him.
A little over a year and I can say, yes Daddy feels like home.