Eulogy

The funeral service was very nice. As part of the memorial, some of the family wrote a note about my step-dad. This is the story I related:

I was around 13 years old, and trying to cheat on a book report for school. I hadn’t read the book, and the report I wrote was pure bull. But I, being a smart and wily teenager, knew I could fool my teacher. My mom had me read my report in front of her and my step-dad, and I put on a confident air as I read. When I finished, the look on my step-dad’s face scared me: confusion and disappointment. He easily saw the errors in my report, but he didn’t want to believe it. He asked me a few questions about the subject of the book, and I tried to continue the deception. My ability and will failed me the more I tried.

My mom and step-dad let me go back to my room without saying what I knew they knew. A few minutes later, when my step-dad came to my room to talk with me, I was in tears. I wasn’t crying because I knew I had been caught; I was torn up because of the look of disappointment on my step-dad’s face. He didn’t want to believe I was being so deceitful.

In my room, he didn’t show anger. He didn’t scold me. He just asked, “Why?” Through my blubbering, I admitted that I just hadn’t bothered to read the book. He hugged me firmly, and long.

After I calmed down enough to listen, he talked to me. He told me what he thought of me: he was disappointed in what I had just done, but not in me. Then we talked out my options for that report.

I don’t remember the end result of the book report (probably wasn’t a good grade), but I remember vividly that hug and that talk in my bedroom. It was a simple thing that made me want to be a good, better, person.

***

That story is a good example of what he was like as a step-dad. The term, “step-father” has a lot of negative baggage, so I dislike using it to describe this man. That’s why I prefer to say, “step-dad.” He was a regular, daily, positive part of my life since I was 7 years old.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com