“You’re late!”
My first full weekend having my five year old daughter had not begun well. Used to a lay in on Saturday mornings, my body had been slow to wake up to the urgency of the required activities.
Now, after a rushed breakfast and a few close calls with traffic lights, I finally got her to her tap lesson… fifteen minutes into it.
We had walked into the main foyer. A simple desk encompasses the majority of the room leaving a narrow gap for the multitude of parents coming and going to squeeze through. An old lady at the desk glares at me with a frown.
“You must be Amy’s father…”
I nod and we filter through into the main waiting room. All the other parents who have been here from the start look me over, register my daughter and frown. “Deadbeat father” written plainly across their faces.
Amy leads the way through the disgruntled parents and I follow at a loss for how to be. She enters a room and I follow to help getting her ready for the lesson.
“Daddy get out!” She scolds. “This is the girls!”

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