When my daughter was four, she told her preschool teacher that “Daddy sleeps in the garage when Mommy gets angry.” The school called us in with extremely concerned faces. My wife was mortified. I was confused. Then our daughter explained that Daddy was “small and brown and eats crackers.” She was talking about a mouse she’d named Daddy because, according to her, “he has the same hair.” There was a long silence before the teacher asked if she could see a photo of me. That somehow felt worse than the original accusation.
@BorisLalane Oh dude, it's all good. The deportation happened when I was 10. I'm just wondering how things would've turned out had I actually felt loved growing up.