ONE Person's Hero

     In all seriousness, I really probably should give more of a fuck about the world and what it thinks of me in general.  The fact of the matter, though, is that I march to the beat of my own drummer.  The “me” that the world is normally allowed to see is an international supervillain, a bearded curmudgeon.

     There is this Tiny Human™ in my house who needs a hero.  “DaddyDaddyDaddy” is my routine.  Frustrating as it may be to hear back to back to back, I respond with “yes baby?” and carry it from where it goes.
Fun fact: it is fucking EXHAUSTING.  I go out into a world that seems intent on destroying me most times and provide for us, then I come home and put on the happiest face I can.  She picks up on the cues around her and is a very emotional child, I work hard to avoid letting her see me break, despite the inevitable occurrence of it.  It’s human.

     To her, I am the smartest, the strongest, the fastest, the best of everything.  True as these things may not be, it does as much for my psyche and facing the world that SOMEONE thinks that highly of me simply in exchange for how I love her.
Every night ends with “night-night, daddy…  love you”

     And I promptly plop down on the couch as soon as she has gone off to sleep and try to decompress to go out and face that fucked up universe all over again every time.
As long as she is daddy’s princess and I am her superhero, I am good with that.  There will be plenty of time for how fucked up the world really is after the innocence of childhood, right now we will be magic!