My Best Man

A man goes by many names throughout his life. When he’s born, he is called the son of his parents, the grandson of his grandparents or the nephew of his aunts and uncles. When he gets a little older, he is known as a brother or a cousin. When he starts school, he becomes the friend of his friends or ‘that boy who runs around with them’. For a brief time after high school, he is himself as he goes to college or starts a career, Later; if he’s lucky, he will become a husband and another family will know him as an in-law. Then, if he’s blessed, he becomes known as his children’s dad and later a grandfather.

Of all these names or associations, I have enjoyed being called Dad most of all. And actually, it had very little to do with me. I obviously had to take all the steps necessary to become a Dad, but the pleasure of the job lies totally with the kids. Before they’re born, God gives them a big dose of complete, unconditional love -- the only true example of it that I know of. Babies don’t care if you’re short, tall, skinny, fat, black, or white. They couldn’t care less about how you look or how much money is in your bank account. All they want is for you to love and take care of them, and honestly, they don’t even care if you don’t even do that, because they’re still going to hug on you and kiss on you and make you feel like you’re the most important person in the world. Because to them, you are.

That’s where I found myself with Doug. He was no longer a baby but he was still very young. We became a team in November and he turned 6 in December. And he thought I was the world. That is a very big thing to live up to when you have to handle everything yourself. You can’t always be the good guy; you have to be the one who calls the shots on everything, right or wrong, down to buying their socks. Thank God for Geranimals!

How did I do? I would give myself a B, maybe a high C at times. I recall one morning when he had a cold and was stuffed up. The bus was blowing its horn outside, he was late getting his coat on, and he wouldn’t stand still so I could zip it up. So I popped his cheek. Not hard, but with an open hand. It was meant to get his attention. There were several reasons why I did it, but not one of them was really worth a damn in the end. Anyway, the mucus and the blood came spewing out of his nose and down the front of his coat. I had to wave the bus on, dress him all over, and wash his coat. He ended up staying home, which is what should have happened in the first place. To make matters worse, later on when I was telling someone about it, I glossed over it, saying my hand slipped off his zipper. I was afraid the military would do something if I said I popped him. It didn’t matter, it was an out and out lie no matter how you look at it, and he was standing right there.  The look in his eyes told me I had just wasted some credibility with him, and that’s something you can’t get back.

Another incident was later on, when we had moved to Monterey, CA. He was about 11 and asked me one day if he could play in the school band. I told him yes but only if the school provided the instrument because we couldn’t afford one. They did, so a day or two later he brought his instrument home. You have to picture this. Monterey was similar to San Francisco in that it was on a bay and was hilly. His bus stop was 2 or 3 blocks down the hill from our apartment. I’m sitting on the couch watching TV one day when he comes walking in the door with a cello! It was almost twice his size but he was so proud of it. I told him he should take it back and ask for something else. He did, and got a drum. It’s funny. He and I talked about this at Thanksgiving and we remember it differently. He says he kept it for a few days, but I remember having him take it back the next day. It doesn’t really matter I guess, since the drums that I thought would be a passing fad ended up carrying him to his PhD.

There was also the time a year or so later when I got sick and was out of it for awhile. He took care of me then and more than once I saw fear or concern in his eyes, but he did it and did it well. My biggest worry had always been if something happened to me, what would happen. He showed me what would happen; in spades. He was a trooper who did what he had to do.

So, logically, when I met Sue, it was important to me that they get along. In fact, when I started feeling stronger toward her and began to think about asking her to marry me, I talked to Douglas first. To a point, he had veto rights over the whole thing. I did not want to make him feel trapped in something he wouldn’t like. He said he was okay with it and was my Best Man at the wedding.

There are times I still miss those days.

And a Child Shall Lead Him...

Millions of songs and books have been written about breaking up and there are a million more yet to come. Breaking up is never fun, especially when it is a marriage and involves kids. If loving someone is an example of man at his best, then divorce must be an example of man at his worst. Our divorce was unique, at least to us, but at the same time it was not really that much different than any other. All it takes is for one person to start thinking it’s time to move on. At that point, you can’t save it. It took me several years to get past it; to get to a point where I stopped playing “what if” and “yes, but” games with myself. It’s always easier being the leaver.

The hardest part for me was the timing. She was back in California with the kids and I was stuck on an island near the end of the Aleutians. This was before PCs, DVDs, cell phones, video games, satellite TV or anything like that, so there were few diversions. We got two 5 minute phone calls home a week and mail was delivered on Tuesdays and Fridays. Other than that, there was nothing. We could have called more often if we wanted to pay $5 or $6 a minute. My salary wasn’t enough to cover that.

I was only there for a year, but it was a very long year, so at times, you had to hold on to whatever you felt was solid just to keep your sanity. For me, that was my wife and kids. So while she was deciding to move on, I was holding on as tightly as I could. It wasn’t a time to “hold on loosely” as .38 Special would say. So, when it was time to come home, there was little to come home to. I was being reassigned to Arkansas, and we were split again because she wanted to stay in California, with the kids.

I don’t blame her for how things worked out. I did at first, mostly because I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t holding onto me as tightly as I was holding onto her, but I slowly came to realize that there was nothing I could do to change it. We half heartedly tried again later that summer when I was going to school, but by the time school was over even I could see it was useless to try any more.

That’s when my little man stepped in. After the attempt that summer, we all went back to Arkansas while she made plans to go back to California. Then one day out of the blue she said, “Douglas wants to stay with you, is that okay?” Was it okay? You could have knocked me over with a feather. Almost immediately I started thinking things like, “what do I know about raising a 5 year old by myself”, but just as quickly I brushed those thoughts aside. Sure he can stay!

If you asked him how I was at raising him, I hope he would tell you I did at least okay, but I’m not so sure. Some days it was debatable about who was actually raising who. I made more than my share of boo-boos, but I always tried to put his wants and needs before mine, and I hope he knew he could come and talk to me about anything, no matter what.

For the next 7+ years it was just us guys.  We were a team. .

Isn't She Lovely

After weather observer school, I flew back to California and Barb and Douglas met me at the airport. Four months to his young mind must have seemed like an eternity because he was a little apprehensive when he first saw me. He wasn’t afraid of me; he just seemed to be unsure of what to do. All he would do was look at me and giggle, and he did that off and on during the ride home. But, after we had been home a few minutes and I sat down in my usual chair, he came running over and jumped up in my lap. It was like he was waiting for a sign that it was really me or that I was really home.

He was such a neat little kid and he developed a sense of humor really early and was good at joking and playing around. But then again, he probably had to. There weren’t many kids his age in our neighborhood so he had to play by himself or with me and his mom. One of the saddest images I can remember was looking through the screen door at him as he sat on our stoop. He had his head down in his hands, looking so lonesome and blue. Almost like he didn’t have a friend in the world, and in a way, he didn’t.  Not his own age anyway.

We spent as much time with him as we could, and we got him a little Sheltie pup that we kept for awhile. He also had a cat, an assortment of gold fish and a parakeet he named Floyd.

He was the first of my kids to literally melt my heart. One day I was sitting in the chair and he was playing with his toys on the living room floor. He stopped what he was doing and walked over and climbed up in my lap, and started playing with his toys again. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to play; he just wanted to be in my lap. What a kid.

After a few months, Barb said she was expecting again. It was a bit of a shock, but not unwelcomed news. Still showing that my neck was red, I told her and her Mom that they could have their girl this time. I couldn’t openly admit that I wanted a girl too. That wouldn’t have been macho.

This time the delivery was different. I got to go into the delivery room. Barely. It was more like a stool at the head of the delivery table, and the doctor saying something like, “You sit down there and don’t move. Don’t say a word or touch anything, and if I tell you to leave the room, don’t ask a bunch of questions, just get the hell out of here!” So I sat there without a peep.

A few minutes later Amy came into the world. After he delivered her, the doctor placed her on Barb’s tummy so we both could see her. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. Small and pudgy, wet and sticky looking and almost every color imaginable -- white, tan, black, blue, red, purple, yellow, there might have even been a touch of green here or there. Then she took a deep breath and started to cry that tiny little squeaky cry that babies make.

My world was expanding, and I loved it.