I was at the end of the long hallway before the question popped into my head. Never before had I questioned the history of your tiny family. How did a single man end up raising his two young daughters full-time?  

I turned, on my heels, and asked you something that I’d never wondered previously.  It had never occurred to me to ask you. I asked simply, “did you have to fight for them?” 

You answered equally as simply, “no.”

With that, satisfied, I turned back and carried on towards my teenage bedroom.  

You called my name.  I remember you calling out my name because your voice cracked.  “Virginia”, you said.  “I would have fought for them.”

I smiled because I believed you.  I turned again, headed towards my room and you followed with “I would fight for you, too.”

I don’t know if I turned back towards you to give you the smile that was deserved but I do remember my teenage heart bursting open. 

Here.  Here is a father who would fight for me.  A man, among men, who is not inconvenienced by the raising of children.  A constant in a world, that seemed at the time, to be ever changing.

I don’t know if I started calling you dadto my friends then or if that came at a later date but inside, inside, everything changed with that comment.  

I’d fight for you too.