Several years ago, after we’d been dating for a few months, my boyfriend Calvin and I decided that our relationship had developed enough to reach the next milestone: Meeting the Folks. The fact that we were in our thirties and included my son on dates didn’t diminish the butterflies I felt in wanting to make a good impression on his mom and dad.

Luckily, to our collective relief, the elder Jacksons were pleased with Calvin’s choice and received me with open arms: his younger siblings, however, responded with a mixture of shock and awe. Michael was glad to see Big Brother settling down, Demetree gave her stamp of approval (“Don’t mess this up”) and Kim acted as if she was witnessing the materialization of a myth right before her very eyes: “Calvin doesn’t ever bring anybody over here!”

When winter came and we became husband and wife, I was toasted by my new father-in-law as ‘a baaaad lady’ and met a cousin that was so shocked about the nuptials that he crossed state lines to confirm rumors of my existence: “I didn’t come all the way here from Arizona just to see Cal: I wanted to see for myself who got Cal.”

Apparently, I was no longer just Mrs. Calvin Jackson: as far as his friends and family were concerned, I had become Lorrie the Player Slayer.

I couldn’t say that the news surprised me—-after all, his hazel eyes, golden skin and clean-cut good looks kept him in-demand with the ladies as a teen and adult. Due to his easy-going nature and engaging personality, Calvin never lacked for female companionship and was used to having both the first pick and the last say when it came to relationships with the opposite sex.

But all of that changed when he became a husband and, most of all, a father. In the space of three years, the ladies man who joked about getting his ‘players card’ revoked ironically helped to create his own karma: two girls who could melt him with their smiles, crumple him with their tears and compel him to look forward to experiences he never dreamed he’d participate in, like ballet recitals and Daddy-and-daughter dances.

His experience with babies had been minimal, but when the doctors placed those helpless infants in his arms, the man who had little compunction about breaking hearts couldn’t believe how full his very own had become.

“I can’t even tell you about the joy I felt when Nia was first born,” Calvin tells me about the birth of his mini-me. “I thought, ‘God gave me this baby girl to take care of, I am so blessed.’ And then when Layla came along, I couldn’t believe I was able to have that gift twice. I wanted them to be raised by their mother to be strong and self-sufficient, but also with the knowledge that their Daddy loves Momma and will always, always be there for them.”

As a life-long member of the ‘daddy’s girl’ club, I always wondered if my own mother resented the bond I have with Daddy, but now, as I watch my two daughters gush over their own father, I appreciate those moments, hoping that in years to come, this former player emeritus will give them the knowledge and the weapons that will someday slay a worthy man’s defenses and earn devotion from them that’s at least half as genuine as the eternal love he has for his precious girls.