Being a single dad wasn’t my dream. But it was the only thing I had left after everything else in my life felt pointless, and I was going to fight for it if I had to.
Advertisement
I work two jobs to keep a cramped apartment that always smells like someone else’s dinner. I mop. I scrub. I open the windows. But it still smells like curry, onions, or burnt toast.
By day, I ride a garbage truck or climb into muddy holes with the city sanitation crew.
Most nights, it feels barely held together.
By day, I ride a garbage truck or climb into muddy holes with the city sanitation crew.
Broken mains, overflowing dumpsters, burst pipes, we get it all.
Advertisement
At night, I clean quiet downtown offices that smell like lemon cleaner and other people’s success, pushing a broom while screensavers bounce across giant, empty monitors.
The money shows up, hangs around for a day, then disappears again.
But my six-year-old daughter, Lily, makes all of that feel almost worth it.
She remembers everything my tired brain keeps dropping lately.
She’s the reason my alarm goes off and I actually get up.
Advertisement
Leave a Comment