I am daddy’s little girl. I do things to piss him off, make him laugh and cry. Throughout my teenage years, I purposely dyed my hair lime green and got my ears pierced without his permission, which in no doubt ended in a lecture about “ruining my hair” and “deforming my pretty face”. But, being the charmer that I am, of course this all ended in the situation being fliiped on its head; making the man laugh, ultimately forgetting about my rebellion. As the years go on, my hair changes colour countlessly: the earrings disappear, but are replaced with more, this time in my lip and endless threats of course my first tattoo.
I move out. Taking on the world independently.
But now, I still make him laugh, cry and mad. Every now and then, the coy sound of “Daaaaad” can be heard escaping my lips, over the phone or on the occasion that I venture home. I want something and he has the money. Although I can twist him around my little finger, and rebel against his “I am the man and i wear the trousers” rule, I am seeking his approval.
Daddy approves of Alabama Shakes. I think Alabama Shakes are pretty cool. Their single Hold On resonates around the kitchen. My fathers little feet are tapping and his little head is bobbing up and down. A smile.
Papa has stamped his seal of approval.