I hate going out in public with my dad.
Because I worry.
I worry what people will think of us. And of course we shouldn’t give a fuck about what other people think. But we do.
And I know he worries, too. I hear it in the tilt of his voice when he announces loudly- almost like a disclaimer – “This is my DAUGHTER, Elizabeth.” I hear it when I find any reason to call out loudly to him, “DAD.”
I worry that people think he is my kidnapper – or worse. Because we don’t look alike… People are always disposed to think for the worse.
How remarkable it would feel not to worry about stepping out of the house with my own father!
