I didn’t mind him being interested in my mom, but staying the night was too much. Awaken by her sobbing, I assumed he was trying to console her. Regardless, Mr. Wilson was still not on my “A” list. Not once had he seemed to care about me; thought, he did pay some attention to my younger brothers. Maybe he thought that I was too old and set in my ways to become accustomed to him, but that wasn’t it by a long shot.
Hoping they didn’t hear me, I quickly crept into the bathroom. I thought I could handle it. He’ll leave soon and then it’ll just be the four of us again. I told myself relentlessly over and over again that Mr. Wilson wasn’t a long-term guy, but it was too late. Crying wasn’t something I did on a regular basis, but when the tears came, they flowed non-stop. I tried to keep quiet, but then I started feeling weak. Before I knew it, I was lying on the bathroom rug, fast asleep.
Five years later, I’m in a new house, but with the same mom, the same two brothers, and a new step-dad: DQ (Daddy Quinton).
Everyday, I wake up to the sound of my alarm at five-thirty. Savionne and Darren are still asleep; they don’t have to get up until seven. I decide to go wake up my “parents.” If I have to get up this early, so do they.
I love to see my mom with DQ while they’re sleeping. My mom’s slow, steady breaths mixed with his long, deep snores calm me. They face opposite directions, leaving a gap in the middle of the bed. As I jump right in between them, my mom jumps, startled.
“Morning Danny,” my mom says. “If you don’t get up, I’m going to walk you to your bus stop.”
Even though it sounded like a joke, I knew she just might do it; I try to wake DQ up instead. “Rise and shine, DQ.”
“Girl,” he says. “You have five seconds before ‘Gas Man’ gets here.”
I jumped out of the bed, tripping. I knew all to well that he wasn’t kidding; DQ knows how to clear a room. I still don’t leave though; consequently, he thrusts his rear-end in the air and pushes as hard as he can.
Maybe the nauseating smell, or the love behind it, made me realize something. Anyone in the world can be a parent, but not everyone is qualified to be.
Not knowing the man who conceived well doesn’t affect me as much as I thought it would. I believe that he was only meant to bring me into this world, not to show it to me. I believe that my mom and DQ are meant to take care of me, and so far, they are doing a wonderful job. One day, I will return the favor. From my point of view, it is well deserved.
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