Page 3 of Mayhem

She seems to be transported into a dream world. “What if they’re all like, really cute? I won’t be able to pick.”

A chuckle bubbles up, and I shake my head. “Yeah, that’s always the hard part. What if they’re all really cute?”

The size of the eyeroll that remark gets me has to hurt. How does she do that? “Dad, they have to be cute to be in your band. It’s important.”

This surprises me. “Oh? And why is that?” Here I thought it was our music that mattered. Silly me. Maybe Charlie could be our new PR rep instead of this Tess person.

“Because,” she sighs dramatically, “if you want girls to like your music, you have to be cute.”

I arch a brow at her. “And who told you that?”

“Well, it’s just my opinion. But everyone thinks that way.” She shrugs matter-of-factly, but I see a hint of doubt flash in her eyes.

I love that doubt. She should doubt that opinion.

“And do you always do what everybody else does?”

She scrunches her nose at the idea.

There’s my girl.

“No.” Her forehead creases as she clearly starts to examine her position on the matter.

I don’t continue and let her figure out how she wants to deal with this personal revelation. Some things just need to be figured out on their own without intervention.

I’m not a candidate for ‘Dad of the year.’ Never have been. In fact, in the very beginning, I was downright awful. I was scared shitless to become a dad; thinking it would ruin my life, and crush my music dreams, hold me back somehow.

The exact opposite is true.

Having Charlie in my life has changed me so completely, it’s mind blowing to look at how we started, to where we are now. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I could do both – and succeed at either of them. Not that I’m perfect. I’m not. I still have moments of my old mindset creep in on occasion and go off the rails a bit on some quest for ‘freedom.’ But overall, I think I’m doing okay with everything.

That’s today’s feeling. It can change in a heartbeat.

“Okay, he can be ugly,” Charlie says ruefully, snapping me out of my reminiscence.

“Wow, Charlie. Really?” I say, not sure I like this opinion either.

“What?” Her bright eyes turn up to me questioningly. So innocent.

How do I approach this now? I throw my figurative dreams of being ‘Dad of the Year’ out the window, and sit next to her on the couch, trying to gather my thoughts.

“What’s your favorite food?” I ask as she sits up straight and gives me her full attention. I love that we can talk like this, and that she’s open to it all the time.

“Meatloaf,” she says without thinking.

Again, there’s my girl. Forsaking the norms of pizza or burgers.

“Okay,” I say, nodding, trying to conjure the right lesson in my head. I don’t know if I can work with meatloaf. “Can you imagine that there are people who hate meatloaf?”

Her serious face is confused for a moment, and she shrugs. “Well, they’re wrong. Meatloaf is the best.”

I stifle a laugh.

Okay, maybe meatloaf isn’t the ticket to salvation here.

“What about Pepsi, you like that, right?”

“Yeah…”

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