“Daddy, I Like This Better Than the Motel” — The Story America Doesn’t Want to Admit (2 of 3)

Now it’s just me. Me and three kids the world doesn’t know what to do with.

Shelters hang up when I call. “We’re full.” “Try again Tuesday.” “We don’t take single dads.” Yes, you read that right. If I were a mother, there’d be a bed. If I were a woman, someone would squeeze us in. But a father with children? Suddenly there’s no room. No policy. No plan.

So I sold my wedding ring. Filled the tank with just enough gas to get out of town. Bought peanut butter and a box of cereal. We eat it from paper cups because bowls are a luxury we don’t have anymore.

I told my boys this was a guys’ trip. No Mom. No rules. No bedtime. They thought it was exciting. They still do. That’s the cruelest part—they think I’m brave. They think I chose this.

But last night, my middle son rolled over in his sleep and whispered, “Daddy, I like this better than the motel.”

And that’s when my heart broke. Because he meant it. He thought a drafty tent on muddy ground was better than that weekly-rental room with flickering lights and mildew-stained walls. That’s the standard my children measure comfort by now. And America says this is fine.

This isn’t a camping trip. This is what happens when a working-class family falls through the cracks. This is what happens when there’s no safety net for fathers. This is what happens when we pretend homelessness only looks like addicts under bridges or drifters pushing shopping carts.

It doesn’t. Sometimes it looks like kids sleeping soundly in a nylon tent, thinking their dad is a hero when he’s really just a man praying tomorrow someone finally says “yes.”

I tuck them in every night with stories I can barely finish because my voice keeps breaking. I wash up in gas station bathrooms and laugh about it so they won’t see my shame. I keep the game going because when the sun comes up, the truth will hit us like a hammer:

The peanut butter will run out. The tank is almost empty. The shelters will keep saying no. And my boys—my sweet, trusting boys—will discover what I’ve been too afraid to admit.

That their father doesn’t have a plan.