The Little Girl Who Asked Me to Be Her Daddy The Reason I Said Yes and the One Reason I Almost Didn’t
I first met Amara on a Thursday afternoon, the day I walked into room 432 with a children’s book in my hand and a leather vest on my back. I’m a 58-year-old biker—tattoos up my arms, beard to my chest, the kind of man most kids initially shrink from. But she didn’t. Seven…
