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“I was so angry with him, but part of me felt exhilarated by his sheer cockiness. Even under the influence of God knows how many rounds of drinks at Dave’s, Wild Bill still had enough charisma to charm away any negative thoughts. He never taught me to ride a bike, bandaged a skinned knee, or comforted me over bullies teasing me for wearing Salvation Army clothes. But Wild Bill was my dad. And that was enough. We both erupted into laughter as I wrapped my arms around him, breathing in the distinctive scent belonging only to Dad.” — Samantha Hart
I was so angry with him, but part of me felt exhilarated by his sheer cockiness. Even under the influence of God knows how many rounds of drinks at Dave’s, Wild Bill still had enough charisma to charm away any negative thoughts.
He never taught me to ride a bike, bandaged a skinned knee, or comforted me over bullies teasing me for wearing Salvation Army clothes. But Wild Bill was my dad. And that was enough.
We both erupted into laughter as I wrapped my arms around him, breathing in the distinctive scent belonging only to Dad.