Daddy. This is, of course, a very touchy subject, so I had to approach it delicately. It was thrilling for me to relive some of the memories of my days with the bikers who haunted our home in my childhood.
This article is written from the perspective of a 4-year-old girl, who was surrounded by 1%ers all of her childhood, having no idea just how dangerous this life could be.
You can find the article here. Below you can find a short excerpt:
I would wake up at odd hours of the night, wander into the kitchen to find Daddy talking to his Brothers, and crawl into his warm, loving lap. Wide awake, all I wanted was to cuddle with him, smell his skin, and let him feed me his treats of Screaming Yellow Zonkers and Hershey Kisses. Seemingly uninterrupted, the men continued their discussion, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. I knew not to interrupt them, but be sweet to them if they spoke to me. Daddy would pet me, stroking my hair in his special Daddy way, keeping his attention on the important business of his Brothers.
My father died at the age of 50 as a result of his lifestyle. I miss him often, but when I ride the motorcycle it makes him feel so close again. Writing this blog, remembering him and exploring this side of my life, has helped me bring him back to life in a way. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have had such an amazing father and to now have a husband who is equally amazing.