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When I was seventeen or so, my mother announced that she was going to get married again. She had been divorced for nearly ten years and had raised us just fine. It wasn’t easy for her, but she did it. Two boys and a baby girl. Another story. Another day.
So when she made this announcement, I was lukewarm at the idea. I knew Eugene from my after school job, but I had no idea that Mama had it going on like THAT! So when I found out they were dating and he later proposed, I was less than thrilled.
Not that he wasn’t/isn’t a good man. As a matter of fact, he has turned out to be a good partner and husband for Mama. However, it was difficult for me to look at him as my father. You see, at that point I hadn’t seen my biological father for over seven years before Eugene and Mama got married. I loved my real dad. Almost idolized him. However, he was an example of what happens when a good man goes bad right before your eyes. Again, another story. Another day.
So my older brother was the “man of the house” for the last seven years of living at home. Which was cool by me. ” So why get married now? We had done just fine with out a father.” I thought. Being a self-centered teenager, I’m wondering why she thinks I need a dad at this point in my life,but she wasn’t doing it for us. She was in love. She was doing it for herself.
Twenty-one years later, they are still together. The road has not always been smooth, but they have traveled it together. He has turned out to be a pretty good stepdad as well. Over the years he has tried to pass along some of his wisdom based on his hard-knock experiences. He has also tried to be there when I have needed him. He has helped me move to college, away from college, painted cars for me, stood in my wedding, and even taught me how to shoot. He is the only “grandpa” that my kids know.
Most importantly, he has been good to my mother. That’s truly all that concerns me. He has treated her well through all of these years. Like any marriage, they have had their ups and downs over the years. However, they have stuck by each other.
Over the last few years, he began to call me “son”. It was a little awkward, but I didn’t object. After all, I am a father myself at this point and unfortunately, I don’t remember much about being a man’s “son” since mine left so long ago. Now I understand what he was doing. It was his way of trying to bring us a little closer together. It was his way of telling me that he loved me.
And for that…I thank you “Dad”. You’ve paid your dues.
Mr. Man
