my dad was a gambler

Oh hi there it’s me again what’s up with your week!

I thought I’d say hi cz you’re probably spinning in your office chair staring into space and dying for an email to distract yourself with so…

Get yourself some tacos - this is gonna be weird.

[she said wrecking her last brain cell to intro this smoothly]

It’s 1993.

(ish, the memory of a 2 year-old can’t be trusted)

I’m a cute ball of energy in ridiculous clothing and self-cut curls, finding myself in the luxurious position of having not 1, not 2, but 3 “dads” to choose from.

(well choose is a big word but we’ll get to that later)

There’s one artist.

One gambler.

One villain.

Well no actually…

The artist, the gambler and the villain is ONE of the 3 contestants.

See..

Not my “real” dad (my mother leaves that one before I’m born).

Not my stepdad (my mother doesn’t marry that one until I’m 5).

So if you’re confused right now just know… it’s intentional.

(i’m honestly confused myself as to where she carved out the time for being a single mom but i’m not the expert)

Ok wait I’ll start over.

Meet my dad:

Let’s talk his unusual resume.

(dunno where i get it from.. sounds genetic)

The artist—

In real life, he’s a draftsman for the Deutsche Bahn which bores him out of his skull…

So he starts acting in children’s plays at the local theatre.

Thing is, he doesn’t take just any roles.

He exclusively plays…

The villain—

It’ll take me a few years to grow into his words.

We’re backstage at the open-air stage.

He looks at me and smiles, passing me his Captain Hook wig.

I now want his feathery hat.

The scarlet robe.

And, of course…

The hook.

(Captain Miniature Me looks ridiculous)

But well… Nobody can play the villain all day long.

At night, he tells me bedtime stories.

Of captains, pirates & their crews.

He makes them up on the fly -

so I can’t argue the plot.

I’m not even mad…

That’s genius.

(for real)

The gambler—

This is where our story gets dark which I love to omit but oh well… it leads to my mother packing little me & her stuff and leaving him -

for good. (or bad if you’d asked me)

We move across the country.

No more bedtime stories.

My mother marries.

(not him)

I struggle to adapt to my new life.

I’m without my grandparents, without my father, and 1/10th of a mother.

My brother’s born sick.

It’s a new start, but I don’t want it.

The thing about choosing?

You’re not always asked.

The sad truth is…

Sometimes, it doesn’t matter who or what you choose.

People get ripped out of your life.

People make choices.

People die.

But here’s the cool part:

Every story you tell connects you to someone who shares it.

Every story that resonates creates a bond.

Every story that makes them feel…

Well, makes them feel.

Remember…

The one dad I chose?

Not the one with the money.

Not the one with the legal “rights” to me.

I chose the one with the stories.

The one who understood that words matter…

And create the most powerful bonds.

I know you’ve known this all along…

My dad was the OG marketer!!!

Psychology agrees:

(i’ve asked AI so you don’t have to)

So there you have it .

Tell stories that put your subs to sleep!!

Look.

Marketing gimmicks aside -

You find your people through the stories you share.

You’re actively showing you get them.

You make them feel safe because… you’ve been there.

You’re proof their struggles are valid - and show them they’re not alone.

Now off you go to type yours!

(or fine, go back to spinning your chair)

xx Lessa

PS

PPS what story are you not telling that somebody needs to hear?

PPPS i feel like i’ve missed so many opportunities for dad hook jokes. Got one?