For my Little Fighter

02.01.15 (Day 375)

16.42

This one’s a dedication. I’ve promised it to someone and I never break a promise if I can possibly help it. I may not refer to her by name because this blog and hers are read by those who would separate us but she’ll know I’m talking about her. With personal, phone and social media contact forbidden, this is the only means I have remaining of communicating with her. The power of writing. So my little friend, this is yours:

My little fighter; my martial artist: not by ownership or parenthood but because the nickname I may not refer to is what I christened her, along with the fold-up one, my clingy thingy, the dog and others: all were Pink Hearts and this one was always one of the more loyal ones, caring about me as much as I did for her. I’m the one she’s referred to as from a place where we first met and it was in that same place that I met many of the others.

We have to refer to each other cryptically because our relationships are forbidden. Nothing untoward ever went on with this particular Pink Heart any more than it did with any of the others. I filled a hole that needed filling in a few of those lives: that of father, uncle, big brother, counsellor. All who received my wisdom were grateful of it, just the same as they appreciated somewhere safe to hang out when we had the squat.

The problem is, my friend is a fifteen year old girl. An inappropriate relationship? To society and to the casual observer who saw fit to judge, yes. But the plastic police and defective detectives who judged were as poor in those roles as they were in the ones their kids came to me to fulfil. I didn’t pick them up: they came to me. They followed and I carried. I taught them; they learned and grew. I’m proud of them.

But now that the whole Pink Heart Family is dispersed and has no safe place to meet, those who would judge continue to police and my contact with some is forbidden, including any contact with the little lady this post is dedicated to. She has said via various channels that I did a better job than those who I stood in for, including at least one of her blood relatives.

Those who would see us kept apart can do so no more than they can stop me writing this or stop my friend from exercising her own – very talented – creative muscle. To do that to us would be to deny us our one remaining outlet and I need mine just as she needs hers; I need her just as she needs me. For she is a friend and sometimes friends have needs. She needs me sometimes and I shall not be denied my remaining means of communication to one who needs me. Deny us this and you have blood on your hands.

We may not be in the place we all once knew but we still have means of communication and no-one can stop us using words. She may have had her phone confiscated and sometimes she is denied access to the internet but we will find a way. And the people who deny her these means of communication do so because they are paranoid. Do they not realise though that they are stifling her, suffocating her and that one day she will kick back. Blood on their hands and shot in the feet because they can’t think before they act and when they act, they’re so arrogant that they won’t back down. And they may wonder why the cat gets in so often if they just paid my friend the parental attention she craves. Will I back down or stand aside under pressure? No. No more than my little friend will give up her fight.

So, to my friend:

Sweet thing, you are a very special friend to me. You were there when I needed you, just as I was for you. And I still am. If the ages had been different, we both know that we are soulmates and that everything could have gone a different way. But just as with some of the others, I maintained an appropriate relationship with you, I watched you grow and blossom and you emerged from your tenure with me an even more beautiful person than you were when we first met.

And you are beautiful: anyone who tells you different is just jealous of what you have and which they can’t have. Because it’s yours and yours alone. Why? Because you are unique. Yes, you’re special: a special person. Filled with love but with little or no outlet; fighting to get out and make yourself heard but often muffled and restrained. But you know what? I hear you daughter, girl friend, sister, mate. And I do hear you because I can relate to what you say and write. It takes one to know one.

You know that I was the one you came to when you needed to talk, or just somewhere to go. You came to me because I made you feel safe, secure and wanted. I understood you and I still do. Often I’d find you huddled somewhere, upset. And I was glad I found you; not upset but because I’d found my little favourite person whom I could relate to as you could me. And when you looked up and saw that I’d found you, you smiled. Remember? And when I found you, I smiled too: just a friendly, reassuring smile. You were safe with me. You didn’t call but I always knew when you’d gone missing and I always came to find you. Even when you didn’t want to talk, I’d normally coax whatever was on your mind out of you. Or you’d just use my shoulder and make it wet. And although I was meant to be the grown-up in that place, I needed friends too. And who did I cry on? You. My strong girl.

You are strong. You are one of the strongest spirits I have ever known. You will continue to encounter difficulties and challenges: that’s life young lady. But you will survive because you’re my little fighter.

So keep that cat at bay and keep your head up kid. I know you can swim; you just gotta keep moving your legs.

As every dad should say: I’m proud of you.

And another: I love you xxx

Hope you feel better and that I’ve made you smile.

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