Don’t judge a book by its cover is an old saying, but it never hurts to be reminded of it.
If a parent does not fit the usual mold of a parent, judging them simply on their appearance might be very unjust.
The tattoos on his face led others to accuse him of being a horrible father. His wife then revealed some unexpected information, which sh.ocked everyone. Read on to find out more…
One of the pillars of individuality is self-expression. Since they allow people to express themselves visually, tattoos are a fantastic way of self-expression.
Richard Huff, 51, has over 240 tattoos on his body and utilizes them as a means of self-expression.
The ink junkie is raising five kids with his wife. To the dismay of the internet at large, his wife routinely posts on social media with him and his kids in it.
The 51-year-old Huff wants people to know that his family is “no different” from any other. But he has admitted that complete strangers regularly ridicule him online because of his appearance.
He described his beginnings. “It became an addiction, I started with my legs and worked my way up,” Huff said.
He said that 85 percent of his body was now covered in tattoos. Among his tattoos are the lips of his daughter and their names.
“I want to be 100% covered in tattoos probably within the next four years,” shаrеd Richard. “I don’t know if it’s the pain or the artwork that you put on you, but it just becomes fascinating when you’re able to do this.”
He claimed that having so many tattoos had its own difficulties. He admitted that the kids at his kids’ school thought he was scary.
In her own words, his daughter has said, “They say, ’ah it’s a bit scary’ and I say ’no, my dad is not scary, he is good with tattoos.’”
Marita, Richard’s wife, admitted that she, too, was terrified of him. She admitted, “I did judge Richard based on his looks at first but as I got to know him a little bit, he is actually a big-hearted person.”
She frequently writes in her blog posts about how much her husband adores her. She continuously praises his qualities, calling him a devoted husband and loving father.
Marita has revealed to others that Richard is much more than a true father to his three children from previous marriages.
Richard said when questioned about his neighbourhood participation, “I participate in the PTA, I go to all my kids’ functions.”
Despite the fact that his kindness is well known, many still criticise him. One user commented on his facial tattoos and said, “I’m not against tattoos, but I mean honestly, does he really need tattoos on his face likе that?”
However, Richard is not the only one who has supporters. “Everyone keeps talking about his face tattoo. He likеs it. He got it. He’s a good father. Let him be.”
Richard responded to the critique by saying, “If somebody can make negative comments likе that, there’s something wrong with them themselves that they would have to judge somebody else.” Adding, “This is what we did and we’re happy. We’ve been together six years our kids are happy and to us, that’s all that matters.”
Richard goes on to remark that no matter how much his family despises him or how much he despises them, he still loves them.. “Having tattoos does not scare my children, it does not make me a bad father, it makes my kids get a different perspective on life,” he said.
Some people find it hard to believe this is the same person after seeing him without all the tattoos!
Richard Huff appears to be a nice husband and father who is greatly loved by his family.
You can’t judge a book by its cover, and he’s living proof of that!
My Future Brother-in-Law Was Always a Pain, but He Went Too Far at Our Wedding and That Was the Last Straw for My Fiancé and Me — Story of the Day
My future brother-in-law was always a problem—rude, arrogant, and always pushing boundaries. But on my wedding day, he crossed a line we could never forgive. He humiliated me in front of everyone, turning my perfect day into a nightmare. That was the last straw, and my fiancé finally had enough.
When Michael and I first started dating, everything felt like a fairy tale. Not the perfect kind, but the kind with unexpected twists.
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Yes, I cried on our first date because I was late. I rushed into the restaurant, breathless and embarrassed.
My eyes welled up as I tried to explain—traffic, spilled coffee, a broken shoe. Michael sat there, silent, clearly unsure of what to do.
We made it through dinner, but he didn’t call me for a week. I assumed I had scared him off.
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Then we ran into each other at a mutual friend’s party. I explained myself, saying I was just an emotional person. To my surprise, he understood and admitted he was the same.
That party was six years ago, and we had been inseparable ever since. I was no longer crying alone over movies where animals died—Michael cried with me. He was my soulmate, and I knew he felt the same.
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Our relationship moved quickly. After just three months, we moved in together, and that’s how we lived for six years.
But somehow, we never got around to planning a wedding. There was always something—either I had a crisis, or Michael did—so we kept postponing it.
Then, eight months ago, Michael proposed. He planned everything so well that I didn’t suspect a thing, making the moment even more special. Not that I needed a proposal to know I wanted to spend my life with him.
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But, like with any couple, there was one problem. His family. More specifically—his brother, Jordan.
Jordan was awful. Rude, arrogant, and full of himself. He thought he was better than everyone, including Michael.
He was only three years older but never missed a chance to remind Michael that he was the older brother.
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I still remember our first meeting. Michael took me to meet his parents, and since Jordan still lived with them—yes, even as an adult—he was there too. So much for being as “amazing” as he thought he was.
At first, everything seemed fine. We had a polite conversation. But when I stepped away to use the bathroom, Jordan was waiting by the door.
“Bored yet?” Jordan asked, his voice low and smug.
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I stiffened. “No, I’m fine,” I replied, keeping my tone polite but firm.
He chuckled. “Come on, let’s go have some fun,” he suggested, stepping closer.
I took a small step back. “No, really, I’m good,” I said cautiously. A strange feeling crept up my spine.
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Jordan tilted his head. “Oh, come on. My brother doesn’t deserve someone like you.
You’d have a much better time with me,” he said. His voice was smooth, but his eyes held something cold.
Before I could react, he grabbed me by the waist. His hand slid lower, pressing against my backside.
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“Get off me!” I shouted, shoving him away. My heart pounded as I rushed back to the dining room, my breath shaky.
Michael looked up as I approached. I placed a hand on my stomach, forcing a weak smile. “I don’t feel great. Can we leave?”
Michael stood immediately. “Of course.”
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His parents looked concerned. “It was so nice to meet you, Danica,” they said as we hugged goodbye.
Once we were in the car, Michael glanced at me. “Are you okay? Did you eat something bad?”
I took a deep breath. “Jordan hit on me,” I said.
Michael’s hands tightened on the wheel. “What? That jerk!” His jaw clenched. “I’m going to talk to him.”
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Michael did talk to Jordan, but Jordan laughed it off. He claimed he was just “testing me” as Michael’s older brother, as if that excused his behavior. I didn’t believe him for a second, but Michael didn’t push back.
Sometimes, I wondered if he was afraid of Jordan. Growing up, Jordan had bullied and teased him constantly.
He always found ways to make Michael feel small, like he was less than him. Their relationship had never been close, but Michael still tried to keep the peace.
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But when Jordan wouldn’t stop, even Michael had to admit it wasn’t a joke anymore.
Then the messages started. Inappropriate texts. Unwanted pictures. Disgusting words. I blocked his number.
When I told Michael I didn’t want Jordan at our wedding, he agreed right away.
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One evening, Michael came home looking drained. He sighed and dropped onto the couch beside me, his shoulders heavy with tension.
“What happened?” I asked, noticing the way his shoulders slumped.
He rubbed his face and let out a long breath. “I talked to my parents. They said if Jordan isn’t invited to the wedding, they won’t come either.” His voice was quiet, heavy with frustration.
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I felt a sharp sting in my chest. “That’s not fair!” I said, my hands tightening into fists.
“I know,” Michael murmured, staring at the floor.
“The way he treats me is reason enough for me not to want him there. He harassed me, sent disgusting messages. Why does that not matter to them?” My voice wavered.
Michael didn’t answer. He just sat there, looking lost.
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I exhaled, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “Fine. We’ll invite Jordan,” I said, my voice tight.
Michael lifted his head. “Are you sure?”
“Not that we have much of a choice. But your parents need to make sure I don’t have to see him,” I said firmly.
Michael wrapped his arms around me. “You’re the best,” he whispered.
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The wedding day finally arrived. My heart was so full I thought it might burst.
I had dreamed about this moment for years, and now it was finally here. I was marrying the man I loved more than anything, and nothing could ruin my day. Not stress, not nerves, not even Jordan.
Or so I thought.
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I was in the bridal room at the church, standing in front of the mirror as my bridesmaids helped me with the final touches.
The dress was perfect. Everything was perfect. Then, there was a knock at the door.
Smiling, I turned to open it. My breath caught when I saw Jordan standing there.
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“What are you—” Before I could finish, he lifted a bucket and, in one swift motion, dumped its contents over me. Cold, sticky liquid drenched my dress, my skin, my hair.
“This is for rejecting me, witch,” he sneered.
I gasped. The smell of paint hit me first. Bright green dripped from my arms. My beautiful white gown was ruined.
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“Are you insane?!” I screamed, my voice shaking.
Jordan only laughed, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, then slammed the door in my face.
My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the chair, sobbing. My bridesmaids rushed in, their faces horrified.
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“Oh my God,” one of them whispered.
“We need water,” another said, grabbing a towel.
They scrubbed at my dress, but the paint had already soaked in. There was no saving it.
Stacy grabbed my shoulders. “Stay here. I’ll find a white dress—anything.” She ran out before I could answer.
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I wiped my face, but more tears came. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
I couldn’t stop crying. I had spent months picking out my wedding dress, searching for the perfect one, imagining how I would look walking down the aisle.
Now, I’d have to wear something I had never even seen before. My hair was completely green, streaks of paint clinging to the strands. My bridesmaids worked quickly, pinning it up and covering it with my veil.
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“It’ll be okay,” one of them whispered.
“We’ll wash it after the ceremony,” another promised.
The ceremony was already supposed to have started, but Stacy was still missing.
The minutes dragged on, each one heavier than the last. My bridesmaids paced, checking the time, whispering in worried tones.
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Finally, the door burst open. Stacy came running into the room, breathless, her face flushed. In her hands, she held a surprisingly beautiful dress.
“Jordan told everyone you ran away. Michael is freaking out,” she blurted.
I froze. My stomach twisted.
“HE DID WHAT?!” I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls.
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Stacy nodded. “People are whispering. Michael looks like he’s about to pass out.”
I clenched my fists. My chest burned with anger. “That’s it. I’ve had enough.”
I reached up, ripped off my veil, and let my green-streaked hair fall loose. Gasps filled the room. My bridesmaids stared, wide-eyed.
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Without another word, I stormed out. My dress stuck to my skin, the paint dry in some places, still dripping in others.
As I stepped into the church, heads turned. People whispered. My heart pounded, but I pushed forward.
Michael stood at the altar, his hands clenched, his face pale. He looked devastated.
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“I didn’t run away!” I shouted. My voice cut through the murmurs.
Michael’s head snapped up. “Danica?” He rushed down the aisle and pulled me into his arms.
Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them back. “Jordan poured green paint on me,” I said, stepping back and gesturing to my ruined dress. “Then he lied and told everyone I left!”
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Michael’s jaw tightened. He turned, scanning the room. “Jordan! Care to explain?!” His voice was sharp.
Jordan leaned back in his chair, smirking. “It was just a harmless joke,” he said, shrugging.
“That’s not a joke! No one is laughing! We’re all on edge as it is!” Michael snapped.
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“Whoa, little brother, calm down,” Jordan said, his tone mocking.
Michael squared his shoulders. “I’m not five anymore. You don’t have control over me.”
Jordan chuckled. “Yet here I am, at your wedding.”
“Get out!” I shouted, my voice shaking with rage.
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Jordan raised an eyebrow. “I was invited. I’m not leaving.”
Michael took a step forward. “Get out!” he repeated, his voice firm. “Or I’ll throw you out myself.”
“Michael, he’s your brother,” his mother interjected, standing abruptly.
Michael turned to her. “If you support what he did, you can leave too,” he said without hesitation.
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His mother’s face paled. “But Michael—” she started.
“Out!” Michael commanded. His voice was final.
A tense silence filled the church. His parents exchanged a glance, then grabbed Jordan and walked out without another word.
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Michael turned back to me, his eyes softening. He pulled me close, resting his forehead against mine. “I was so scared,” he whispered.
I exhaled, feeling the weight of everything lift. “Thank you for standing up for me,” I said, my voice steady.
“From now on, always,” he promised.
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Tell us what you think about this story and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
If you enjoyed this story, read this one: I thought marriage would bring us closer, but instead, we drifted apart. Silence filled our mornings, distance grew between us. Then, one day, a forgotten phone and a single message shattered my world: “Hi, Daddy.” A name I didn’t recognize. A word that changed everything. I had to know the truth—no matter the cost.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
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