I was five years old. Can you believe it? Five years old when that son of a bitch was gone. Left in the middle of the night. No one knows what time exactly, but early enough to happen and late enough to miss it. And where was I? Asleep! Asleep in my damn bed, at the damn orphanage, dreaming the damn night away.
I didn't mean to lash out at him, honest I didn't. Especially at that age and not even knowing what half the stuff I said meant. But when the one man who promises to take care of you and always be there for you is gone...
He taught me those words. Those words I didn't know the meaning of. The words I threw around carelessly hoping someone would hear them. And boy they did. He didn't mean to teach me, and he'd always scold me when I'd use one. But what the hell. This night was a special occasion. And he wasn't there to stop me.
That bastard. I love that bastard despite all the trouble I went through with him. In fact, I seemed to have more trouble after I met him than I did before. But it was worth it. He was worth it. Though he wasn't my real father, he sure acted like it more than my real one would. Well, I've never met my real one, but I wasn't put in an orphanage for no reason.
God, I love that bastard.
I stayed in the orphanage till I was eighteen. Got a place of my own, got a job, made a living, all that peaches and fuzz. I stayed in touch with his friends-he called them his band mates or whatever. Real good guys. Though all real short I remember. That's probably why I never grew past four feet and eleven inches. I hung out with them too much. I loved them all, but none of them could ever love me as much as that man did.
God, I love that bastard.