« I’ll always need you, Daddy Mike. »

The truth is, I need her too. Before I found Keisha, I was just existing. Riding from bar to bar. Working construction. Going home to an empty house. No purpose. No family. No reason to wake up except habit.

Now I wake up at 6 AM every day to make sure I’m never late for our morning walk. I’ve been to every school play, every parent-teacher conference, every field trip. I taught her to ride a bicycle. I help with homework I don’t understand. I learned to braid hair from YouTube videos.

Last year, Mrs. Washington had a stroke. She recovered but she can’t take care of Keisha like before. Social services started talking about foster care. About moving Keisha to another family.

I went to a lawyer the next day. Started the process to become a licensed foster parent. A fifty-seven-year-old single male biker trying to foster a little Black girl whose father is in prison for murder. The social workers looked at me like I was insane.

« Mr. Patterson, you have no experience with children. You have no family support system. You live alone. You ride a motorcycle. This is not an appropriate placement. »

But Keisha’s therapist disagreed. She wrote a letter to the court describing how I was the only stable adult in Keisha’s life. How Keisha had severe PTSD and separation anxiety. How removing her from the only father figure she trusted would cause irreparable psychological damage.

Mrs. Washington testified too, even though she could barely speak after the stroke. « That man… saved my grandbaby, » she said slowly. « He shows up… every day… He loves her… like she’s his own blood. »