For quite a few years, I was a single dad raising kids. I was the cat on the curtain.

My life was beyond hectic. I was up before 6:00 in the morning getting breakfast on the table, the kids’ clothes laid out and their backpacks in order. Then I showered, woke the monsters and led their sleepy little heads out to the kitchen. It was pretty much spoon-feeding them their cereal (with sugar to wake them up), then making sure they actually their brushed their teeth and didn’t just wet their tooth brushes. Crafty, they were.

Out the door, to the daycare, big hugs and I was off to work. Nine hours running a geophysical group in the oil industry (I had a nice office) and then a never-soothing drive through insane rush hour traffic back to the daycare. Inevitably, the kids would be super excited to see me and I had to reciprocate. I’d put on a huge smile and throw them around like sacks of potatoes when I really felt like collapsing in a heap on the daycare Astroturf.

Then it was home, dinner, a movie on the DVD player (this was long before Netflix) and then into the bath with them. They loved this – splashing and making a huge mess for me to clean up after. They disliked actually getting scrubbed down, but that was part of the deal. Then I’d towel them off and they’d jump into my bed for a story.

The boys loved their bedtime stories. Brer Rabbit. The Jungle Book. Dr. Seuss. The stack of books on the bedside table was tall, eclectic, and formidable. The trick was to make the book exciting and relaxing at the same time. Bring them down a few notches, then usher them along the hall to their rooms and into bed. Tuck them under their covers and give them a kiss on their foreheads.

Finally, it was dad time.

Now, you might think that this meant a well-deserved beer and feet up on the coffee table. You would be wrong. It was time to drag the laundry out of the dryer and start folding. For one short stretch I actually had two of them in diapers, and I didn’t use disposables. Fold, fold, fold. I was, and still am, a master at this. My treat was to turn on the nightly news while I sat on the couch surrounded by size 4T jeans and shirts. Twenty minutes of quiet time, then it was off to bed.

Next day, get up and do it again.

Being a single dad was tough, but being a single mom was worse. Here’s why. When people found out I was a single dad there were a lot of comments like What a great guy and You’re really there for your kids…that sort of stuff. Then I heard other guys talking about women who were single moms and the comments were something like She has baggage and Cute, but she’s got rug rats. Seriously. Now, granted, this was a long time ago and maybe things have changed, but it made my blood boil.

For all you single parents out there – I get it.

So why did I write this? If you’ve read any of the Bobby Greco stories – No End of Bad Guys or One is Evil – you’ll know that Bobby is a divorced dad with two little girls. He’s not the full time single parent, but he’s really in tune with his kids. He can talk to them, make them laugh and he understands their insecurities and fears. Bobby’s a pretty good dad.

They say experience is the key to writing with any degree of authenticity. I think that’s why Bobby has kids. I find writing the scenes where he’s with the girls pretty easy.