Exactly! They roll up with a body, I grab a fucking shovel.

Nothing my dad ever did bad ever mattered because I knew, down to my fucking soul that he had my back. Dude once casually strolled up to my bus with an axe in his hands and told the bus driver that if I ever got off that bus bruised and crying again because they couldn’t keep shit under control, he would “show you what a real bruising feels like”.

Now, that’s a little fucking crazy, yeah. But you want a kid to know that they’re loved, valued, and protected, a little crazy is a good thing.

My dad took a half day off from work to do that. The man missed three days total in my entire childhood. That’s when his dad died.

I always swore to myself that if I ever had kids, I would make sure they knew that they were always my number one. That feeling my dad gave me, knowing he’d take on the entire fucking world for me, that shit is powerful. He isn’t perfect, and never was, but gods damn did I know I was loved. The fury in his eyes and the sheer menace in his voice through that bus window for me. No matter how shitty life has gotten since then, that memory still rings through.

And my kid? I’d salt the fucking earth on the grave of anyone that hurt them. I had no fucking clue how hard being a dad would hit. That feeling, like you said, I don’t care who it is, the enemy is anyone fucking with them.

You’re a good mom/dad

I’ve always been called bad when I say if my kids turn out evil I’m taking them out.

Like if they’re just having a rough time and end up doing something stupid that’s fine that’s how we learn but if they start getting into some actually heinous shit I feel like it’s my responsibility to deal with that personally.