Okay, it’s no secret I didn’t have the greatest childhood. So I guess it’d come as no surprise that I haven’t exactly been in a rush to bring another life into this world. The reason most L.A. superheroes only get 15 minutes of fame is that 15 minutes also happens to be their average life expectancy. How could I bring a baby into the world when at any moment I could wind up at the wrong end of Fury of Solace’s gun?
Readers of my blog know that, when I’m not off saving the world, I volunteer every Thursday night at a local orphanage, Lost Lambs. When I see the looks on those kids faces when I walk through the door, everything seems right with the world. They need to know that there’s a future worth dreaming about. And, honestly, I think the experience is as therapeutic for me as it is for them.
But this brings me to Richard. The other kids call him “Dick,” and I don’t think it’s a term of endearment. Anyway, Richard is in a very dark place… His alcoholic father beat his mother to death, then blew his own brains out. Richard discovered the bodies of his parents later that day when he got home from school. Since then, Richard’s been in and out of foster homes. He has problems with authority, and profound rage issues. He reminds me of me at his age, if you wanna know the truth.
I think I could give him the guidance he needs, and I’ve been giving some serious thought to the A-word… but I’m not sure my live-in boyfriend would be on board. Don’t get me wrong, I love Emmett to death, but I’m not sure what kind of father he’d make. And I’m not sure that’s something he’s in a hurry to find out. And since the hours I spend patrolling the streets of L.A. would put him on parent duty 90% of the time, I figure he ought to have some say 😉