He Was My Hero
The last time I sat in my dad’s lap, I was 18 years old. He was talking to me like I was five and had convinced me I had lied about damaging my brother’s car because I told my brother before I told him.
He was doing a sickly baby voice about how I should be disappointed in myself. His friend, Bob, who was sitting nearby, chimed in. He said one short sentence that forever changed my life.
“It’s weird that you still force her to sit in your lap.” That moment ruined my father’s life. Suddenly the facade of perfect dad had crumbled, and one of his favorite offense tactics was forever marred as “weird.”
He could no longer force me to sit in his lap without weird hanging over our heads. As a result, he never once asked me to sit on his lap again.
His friendship with Bob was irreparably damaged too, and I’ve never seen him again. I moved out a little over a year later. Bob, you were my hero. All it took was for another adult to SAY SOMETHING. To shame him for just a moment. To make him question his own “perfection.”