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My step-dad, a title I never use because he's "Dad," fought in Vietnam in the United States Marine Corps. Not long after his time in Vietnam his friend was dating my young mom, so as a favor, Jerry babysat me when my mom was out on dates with his friend. I joke that if I hadn't been such a cool kid, they would never have fallen in love. Perhaps, the opportunity to get to know me as a baby led to him wanting to get to know my mom better, later. I've never seriously asked if that was a factor, but hey, it's possible.
Father's Day. During a time when true masculinity, and God's creation of the two sexes, is under attack, I refuse to call today anything other than Father's Day...that is, unless I decide to call it "Dad's Day".
My situation may not be as unique as I sometimes think, but in my case, my father was not much of a father, but my dad was more than a father than my father could ever hope to be.
Mom divorced my father when I was just a baby. She could have easily been one of those young girls, rejected by her parents, and suddenly totally alone, that sought abortion (as I describe in Chapter Two of my book, Silenced Screams) for a clean break and a reset of her life. My father's lifestyle had her pinned into sexual situations she was not comfortable with, so she divorced him, and then less than a week before my third birthday, she married the man who would become my dad.
Growing up, my father's lifestyle negatively influenced my upbringing, and in his own show of love for me, my biological father vanished from my life when I was twelve. While we reconnected when I was in my twenties, the important teenage years of my life's journey were without the likely damaging aid of a man who had failed to reconcile his own childhood demons. Nonetheless, as a young man the sudden disappearance of dear old dad created within me a whole host of abandonment issues, but thank God that while that was all going on, I had a fantastic dad who was there at the end of the day everyday after his labor at work was done.
My step-dad, a title I never use because he's "Dad," fought in Vietnam in the United States Marine Corps. Not long after his time in Vietnam his friend was dating my young mom, so as a favor, Jerry babysat me when my mom was out on dates with his friend. I joke that if I hadn't been such a cool kid, they would never have fallen in love. Perhaps, the opportunity to get to know me as a baby led to him wanting to get to know my mom better, later. I've never seriously asked if that was a factor, but hey, it's possible.
Eventually, Jerry and my mom began dating, they fell in love, and when they married he accepted the entire package, mother and son, as his own.
The Vietnam Veteran has always been "Dad." He never personally treated me any different than he would have if I had been his flesh and blood son. Sure, there were things that existed in my life that made it apparent I was the step-child, but those things did not pop up because of him, or his attitude towards me.
The Vietnam Veteran has always been "Dad." He never personally treated me any different than he would have if I had been his flesh and blood son. Sure, there were things that existed in my life that made it apparent I was the step-child, but those things did not pop up because of him, or his attitude towards me.
Up until I was twelve, while Jerry treated me as his son, he also gave my father a certain degree of respect. The two men were cordial to each other when the elder (my father) picked me up once per year for his annual "here kid, I bought you a bunch of stuff" sessions (a handful of times I saw him twice in the same year). Dad always encouraged me to keep my father's last name and suggested that I stay connected with my family, of which I, for the most part, did. My last name remains to be that of my blood-line heritage.
Dad led by example, and disciplined with a controlled hand and a loving heart. He worked hard to take care of the family, at one point working two jobs (one from 2:00 am to 6:00 am, then the other full-time during the day) and going to school at night. My biological father was financially comfortable, yet found a way to fall behind on child support. My mom and dad never asked "Bud" for assistance, nor did he demand that my father pay the child support he never seemed willing to pay anyway.
Dad taught me to throw, to catch, and to swing a bat when I was nine years old. When I played baseball for a handful of years it was mom who was usually at the games, because Dad had to work, but he came to the games when he could. My biological father showed up once so that he could be in a picture with me in my baseball garb, but never came to a game.
My Grandma (Jerry's mom) treated me so much like flesh-and-blood that she would forget I was the step-kid. She would say things like, "You apparently got that from your dad." Nobody ever said anything to challenge it. As far as everyone was concerned, he was my dad, and I was a part of the family.
When I became a father of my own family, I tried to model my actions after dad's, but as Brad Paisley's song goes, "I was just hoping I could be even half the dad he didn't have to be."
When I reconnected with my biological father the relationship had less visits per year than when I was a kid. Sometimes we talked on the phone, but we had little to talk about since our interests were so different. He essentially rejected his grandchildren, telling me he didn't like kids. I don't blame him, he was not equipped for such a role due to his childhood, and his lifestyle. He grew up separated from his parents, in a boarding school, seeing his folks twice a year, during Easter Break, and Christmas Break. My dad, however, the man who was raised in a family of eight kids on a dairy farm in Arkansas, does much better with kids.
In 1985 I had a near-fatal automobile accident, and when Dad saw me lying in intensive care, deep in a coma, my chest mechanically rising and falling under the support of a respirator, and my head flowing blood and spinal fluid through the left ear and dripping into a bedpan on the floor, the man who was strong, hardened by war, and unemotional when all else was falling apart around him, felt cold and clammy from the terror of seeing his son struggling for life. He went to a sink in a nearby bathroom and washed his tears away, praying for my survival. I wasn't his stepson, in his eyes, I was his "son," his precious son, fighting to survive.
He has hugged me when I needed a hug, and given me advice when I was up against the wall. He has done everything a Father is expected to do, and a little more, and he did it voluntarily - after all, being my step-dad, he didn't have to be a loving father if he didn't want to be. He chose to be my dad.
I have always called him "Dad," and my biological parent "Father," so that I could maintain a distinction - but Dad is not only a dad. He is a Father, my Father, the Father he didn't have to be.
Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you with all of my heart. You played a huge part in making me the man I have become, and I thank you for it.
And Happy Father's Day to my biological father who died in 1999, God Rest His Soul.
Dad led by example, and disciplined with a controlled hand and a loving heart. He worked hard to take care of the family, at one point working two jobs (one from 2:00 am to 6:00 am, then the other full-time during the day) and going to school at night. My biological father was financially comfortable, yet found a way to fall behind on child support. My mom and dad never asked "Bud" for assistance, nor did he demand that my father pay the child support he never seemed willing to pay anyway.
Dad taught me to throw, to catch, and to swing a bat when I was nine years old. When I played baseball for a handful of years it was mom who was usually at the games, because Dad had to work, but he came to the games when he could. My biological father showed up once so that he could be in a picture with me in my baseball garb, but never came to a game.
My Grandma (Jerry's mom) treated me so much like flesh-and-blood that she would forget I was the step-kid. She would say things like, "You apparently got that from your dad." Nobody ever said anything to challenge it. As far as everyone was concerned, he was my dad, and I was a part of the family.
When I became a father of my own family, I tried to model my actions after dad's, but as Brad Paisley's song goes, "I was just hoping I could be even half the dad he didn't have to be."
When I reconnected with my biological father the relationship had less visits per year than when I was a kid. Sometimes we talked on the phone, but we had little to talk about since our interests were so different. He essentially rejected his grandchildren, telling me he didn't like kids. I don't blame him, he was not equipped for such a role due to his childhood, and his lifestyle. He grew up separated from his parents, in a boarding school, seeing his folks twice a year, during Easter Break, and Christmas Break. My dad, however, the man who was raised in a family of eight kids on a dairy farm in Arkansas, does much better with kids.
In 1985 I had a near-fatal automobile accident, and when Dad saw me lying in intensive care, deep in a coma, my chest mechanically rising and falling under the support of a respirator, and my head flowing blood and spinal fluid through the left ear and dripping into a bedpan on the floor, the man who was strong, hardened by war, and unemotional when all else was falling apart around him, felt cold and clammy from the terror of seeing his son struggling for life. He went to a sink in a nearby bathroom and washed his tears away, praying for my survival. I wasn't his stepson, in his eyes, I was his "son," his precious son, fighting to survive.
He has hugged me when I needed a hug, and given me advice when I was up against the wall. He has done everything a Father is expected to do, and a little more, and he did it voluntarily - after all, being my step-dad, he didn't have to be a loving father if he didn't want to be. He chose to be my dad.
I have always called him "Dad," and my biological parent "Father," so that I could maintain a distinction - but Dad is not only a dad. He is a Father, my Father, the Father he didn't have to be.
Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you with all of my heart. You played a huge part in making me the man I have become, and I thank you for it.
And Happy Father's Day to my biological father who died in 1999, God Rest His Soul.
I hope his demons were finally slayed, and that he has finally reached the peace he always deserved.
-- Political Pistachio Conservative News and Commentary
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