I Miss My Step-Dad

My step-dad died of a heart attack in August 2007. I miss him.

I’ve avoided writing about missing him because I feared it would make my mom sad. I hope it doesn’t; maybe it will make her smile.

My mom married my step-dad when I was very young (around 6 years old), so I have only the faintest and vaguest of memories from before my step-dad was in my life. My real dad stayed a very close part of my life — we all continued to live in my hometown — so my step-dad didn’t replace my real dad, he just supplemented him. Most kids have one dad, (real or step). I and my brother were lucky in that we had the benefits of two dads.

My step-dad was a kind and generous man. Patient and helpful. Funny and smart. He definitely wasn’t the stereotypical step-parent, and that’s why I call him my “step-dad” rather than my “step-father.”

He was a hunter, (mostly white-tail deer), and he was often in the woods early in the morning during October, November, and December. I went with him occasionally, but I was never a good early morning person.

He was a cook. I absolutely loved his venison, and his sweets during the Christmas season put many pounds on everyone. His love of cooking is part of the reason why he got into the restaurant business — his main career was teaching heating and air conditioning repair at the local community college.

He was an occasional drinker. He’d get good and buzzed sometimes at parties and such, but he was a good drunk. Drink made him even funnier, and silly.  He didn’t drink often, and his being tipsy never troubled or embarrassed me.

He was not a dancer. Oh he’d try. He’d get out on the dance floor and jig like he loved it, but good lord the man just didn’t have rhythm.

He was always there for me when I needed him. Between him and my real dad, I never had a lack of a good male role model in my life. Having two good men in my life meant I could always find advice when I needed it.

I think about my step-dad from time to time, just during normal daily life, and there’s still a pang of sadness knowing he’s gone. I’d love to give him just one more hug.

Bullgrit