My dad died when I was 5 years old to cancer. When my mom remarried a few years later, I remember I didn't care for this man who was going to be my step father. His name was Jerry. He was big. Way bigger than my 8 year old person and he was boisterous. (Kind of like I am now). I recall he was not my father. The one that I can't remember now but he wasn't the same. All I knew at that moment was he was taking the place of my dad and it just didn't feel right.
I grew to love Jerry. He taught me about hunting (maybe that is why I am vegan now), he taught me to laugh loud, he pushed me to try new things, he pushed me to take risks (safe but reach), he shared with me his trucking stories while on the road (that could be why I love to make up voices and names of fictitious people and pretend to be them - insert Crazy Larry and Judy Ann). Jerry genuinely cared about me.
However, Jerry died too, of the cancer. I was twelve when he passed away. The ambulance arrived at our home and took his body to the hospital. He didn't make it. I was in eighth grade. My mom never remarried. She was to be my mother and my father.
So, at times like this when most people celebrate their fathers, I celebrate my mom. I take time to remember my dad and my step dad, my "unc" and my other male mentors. I push myself to try new things like mountain climbing and never let any day go by without being thankful.
Cheers to all the fathers out there, new ones and old ones and soon to be ones.
In honor of you, I'll go climb a mountain or two.
No comments:
Post a Comment