"How did you handle not having a father all these years?" Dr. Johnson asks.
"I grew up." I state, "It was that simple."

*

I am 14 and you are 12. Momma is leaving for her night shift. I am in charge until she comes back.
"Gee?" you ask.
"Yeah Mikes?"
"I miss dad."
"I miss him too."
You hug me briefly before plopping down onto the couch. I sit next to you and you rest your head on my shoulder. I look over you, noticing small bruises blooming over the soft skin on you left arm.
"Mikey?"
"Yes?"
"What happened to your arm?"
"Um, I fell..."
I sigh, I know you're lying.
"Please?"
"Okay. Some kid pushed my down in the parking lot yesterday."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to worry you."
"Well I'm worried now!"
Tears brim your eyes. I never meant to make you cry.
"It's okay Mikey, do they hurt?
"Only a little."
"What would momma do to make it better?" I ask.
"She would kiss them." you say quietly.
"Then that's what I'll do."
You hand me your bruised arm and I gently move my lips over each mark, kissing them slowly. You giggle a little and I smile at you. When I'm done, I kiss your forehead. Batman cartoon reruns flashing on the TV screen before us. You look me in the eyes.
"I love you Mikey." I whisper.
"No, I love you more!" you protest.
"Well, I love you most."