My daughter was born seven years ago on New Year’s Day. My son will be two and a half. My two step-children are still under ten. I love them all and reacted immediately to their mothers’ request for money by tramping through the snowdrifts of Brooklyn to the nearest Duane Reade to send money.
“Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?” a friend of mine asked from the comfort of his house.
“Kids don’t wait for nothing.” I was standing on Fulton Street, snow tornadoes tugging at my winter clothing. The temperature was minus 3 Fahrenheit. I felt none of the cold only the warmth of taking care of my kids.
I’m a bad man, but have a little good in me too.
Not bragging, just telling the truth.