I was maybe four or five by this time. It was a sunny afternoon on Oak street. We had just climbed up the musty stairwell into the yellow apartment building. Hearing the creak of each step as each child entered the “home.” We had just been released for the weekend and allowed to ignore schoolwork for a short time. We were consumed by the excitement of what might be in these “long” days that we had ahead of us.

As we entered the door, an exhale of commands were bestowed upon us to clean the apartment as fast as we could. We knew there would be inspections to follow. You see, my mother had realized that the excitement leading to the weekend meant that our father was coming to pick my brothers up and take them overnight. We had to clean our room of which the three of us shared. We began our tasks and would often be distracted by the joy that the three of us found together. That joy would soon end as we were redirected to complete the task given to us previously.

The time quickly approached and the house was presentable. We didn’t want to make it noticeable that we cleaned right before so there were still signs that children lived within those walls. The air was not fresh, the floors were not clean and the bathrooms remained full of residue. Let’s just say…the areas of which were cleaned were not ones that should have taken priority to a truly clean house. Time was ticking so it was time for my brothers to pack all the unwashed, stain covered and torn clothing for the arrival of our Dad.

The knock on the door was anticipated and I was prepared for my brothers to leave with our Dad for the weekend. Keep in mind that him being my Dad was fairly new to me as he had been convinced for some time that I was not his daughter. He arrived and greeted us. I am sure we played as they discussed, briefly, the plans for the weekend. Dad called and it was time to go. I remember hugging my brothers and crying as I did due to missing them for the weekend. That quickly changed as I realized that my brothers had their bags and that our Dad was holding another one. A bit confused, I watched as he told me to give Mom a hug. Was I leaving too? Why?

I remember crying and screaming that I didn’t want to go. Due to this being the arrangement that was decided, my Dad took me over his shoulder as I screamed and cried all the way down the musty steps. Facing over his shoulder, I just felt hate for this guy that was forcing me to leave my Mom. I watched each grain of dirt on the stairs as we made it to the outside door. He carried me to the car where my two brothers were waiting. They were patiently waiting for my Dad to unlock the doors so that we could all climb in. I don’t remember much after that moment. I don’t remember the car ride but I do remember his apartment.

That weekend was my official start of visitation with my Dad. We had so much fun! I remember him spending time with us, allowing me to fall asleep on his chest as he watched a movie. I remember listening to his heart beat and feeling safe. I was safe. I may not remember every detail but what I do know is that I will never forget that day or weekend. The day that I was introduced to “life with Dad.”