Here’s to you, Pops!
Father’s Day is tough for my kids and me for a few reasons. Around here, we try to “hurry” the holiday along by staying preoccupied and off socials to avoid the twinge in the pit of our stomachs or the rather large lumps that seem to painfully form in the back of our throats. Many are tucking themselves in on Sunday evenings with full bellies, sun-kissed cheeks, and faint smiles that stay around from the laughter and fellowship of the day, while we are praying to fall asleep fast so that the feelings we had been avoiding all day don’t creep in one last time and soak our pillows in tears. We’ve never been more welcoming of a Monday than the Monday after Father’s Day.
I always try to remember God’s promise in prayer for my kids - That he is Father to the fatherless. I have also prayed that God would bring the right men into their lives to shape them, guide them, and be who they need when they need them. God has shown up multiple times for my kids in this arena, and we are eternally grateful.
I was married with two kids in a different state when my stepdad married my mom. We didn’t really get to know each other until a few years later when job opportunities brought us to the same city. My husband worked on the weekends and we were “young married couple with two kids” poor, so my stepdad and mom would come to pick up the kids and me and take us on weekend adventures. Most of the time, that meant all of us piling in one vehicle with my stepdad behind the wheel. We would drive through the beautiful Colorado scenery and sometimes stop along the way to enjoy pictures by a waterfall or other cool landmarks. Lunch would be a local “hole-in-the-wall” joint with almost always amazing food paired with maybe one or two drinks and a dessert that my stepdad enjoyed with my two boys. Then, we would trek our way back home and do it all over again the next weekend. It was such a fun time in our lives, and it killed me when we had to say goodbye and move.
A few years later, now with three kids in tow, we were back in the same state again. This time I was a single mom fresh on the heels of divorce. I stayed with my stepdad and mom for a while - they both pitched in with school drop-offs and pick-ups, homework, and all the things. I eventually got my own place, but we still saw each other quite a bit. I remember one time, I met them halfway at a truck stop so they could take the kids for a few days. We loaded all the bags and car seats into the car and said our goodbyes. I went to give my stepdad a hug and he handed me a couple of hundred dollar bills folded up with a simple, “I thought you might need this.”, then he slipped into the driver’s seat and they waved goodbye.
My stepdad has been this constant good guy in our lives for almost 19 years now - giving advice, taking us to the best food and dessert in town, pointing out cool rock formations that we never would have seen because we would have been on our phones, building fire pits, and most recently, sending all the funny cat videos - but he was an answer to my plea to God in 2020.
In 2020, my kids lost their father and I, my husband. The only person I wanted was my mom, so she and my stepdad drove from Georgia to Texas to be with us. Then, a few days later, we began the drive to Kansas for the funeral. We may or may not have looked like the Beverly Hillbillies in a caravan of about five vehicles, thirteen humans, three animals, and suitcases and snacks shoved in all the spare places. Even before the funeral, we were all exhausted! Sometimes, when you’re exhausted, you don’t always make the clearest decisions - and the day before the funeral, I made a decision that I would do differently if I had to again.
My stepdad stayed behind that day to keep an eye on the homestead we had made at the local motel as we all left for the viewing at the funeral home. A few minutes after we arrived, it was clear that my nine-year-old son needed his mind on nine-year-old things, so my mom called my stepdad to come to pick him up. By the time my stepdad arrived at the funeral home, my son’s hurt and confusion had erupted into a full-blown meltdown with the strength of a least one, if not two, full-grown men. It was gut-wrenching. He could not be consoled or contained by anyone that was there. My stepdad parked his car, walked across the street, picked up my not-so-little baby, and looked me in the eye. I will never forget what happened next. I had never seen my stepdad cry, but it was taking everything in him not to at that very moment. As he blinked heavier than usual and gulped back the lump in his throat, he said, “This is not okay, but it’s going to be okay.” Then, he turned and walked back to his car with my child punching and kicking him, buckled him in the backseat, and they drove off to get ice cream. My son was completely calm when we got back later that evening. Pops understood the assignment.
A few days later, we arrived in Georgia. I was a single mom again, and I just needed a few weeks at what felt like “home” before I began my next chapter. My mom and stepdad were there once again - we ate at all the good food joints, shared the best desserts, and even over-indulged at a concert at a winery where the guitarist played “Old Man” by Neil Young just for my nine-year-old as a tribute to his dad. We began to be okay. We began to heal.
Thank you, Pops, for being who we needed when we needed it.
And thank you to all the men that have stepped up for my kids or any kids. It takes a village, y’all.
Happy Father’s Day Weekend!
Blessings on Blessings,