Selene
Copyright© 2022 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 12
I should probably explain. After the trauma of a rescue birth ... of which I remember nothing ... my life was fairly typical ... for a single parent household. Somewhere about four or five I began to live a ‘normal’ life.
Before that, daddy had the typical single father interaction with Family Services. He wouldn’t let go and they insisted he do so. According to assorted Aunts, Uncles, sorta cousins and nosy neighbors ... daddy had a fleet of lawyers, several nannies, and not a few almost militant bodyguards doing their best to keep the DHS dogs at bay.
Fortunately, the courts sided with the parent with the money and I got to stay. I went to school ... at the University. It wasn’t safe to go to a general population school. DHS had a history.
As it turned out ... University Elementary was the proper place for my intellect.
All the teachers were first class ... excellent teachers everyone.
“Professor Dent ... your kid is one smart cookie. She is a joy in class.”
And daddy said, “You must be talking about someone elses kid.”
But ... no ... it was me.
With daddy an adjunct professor we had long weekends and decent breaks between. Summers I was shipped off to Fiji, or Pentwater, or Gold Coast, Australia, or taken ‘places’ camping. Better yet ... I played in the hangar shop ... learning.
There was a lot to learn. When the SPAD was parked outside, the inside was Yoga, Tai Chi, self-defense, Kayak lessons. All manner of arts and crafts ... and stuff. I seemed to have a knack and joined in.
Eventually Adjunct Professor Dent became Professor Dent and then Adam Dent Assistant Dean of Graduate Studies ... on track to step into the Dean of Graduate Studies shoes when the old man was designated Professor Emeritus. Soon.
Daddy says I kept him sane ... until I was seven. After seven I drove him crazy. I was ALWAYS into things.
“How does this work?”
He showed me. It might take an instant or it might take a week for him to learn so he could show me.
“Why doesn’t that work.”
“It’s broke,” he would say.
“I fixed it.” Sure ... it was running backwards ... but it was running.
“Oops.”
“I’m bleeding.”
That was at twelve ... and I got the watch.
Because I had no mother, Seven had to instruct me on the safe, sane operation of the ‘damn thing.’
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