Thirteen Years Ago

I often read the memorials in the new paper and wonder why someone would want to publish something like that. Out of all the brilliant and enlightening things you can put in a newpaper, why would you announce to the world that a loved one that you miss still, died so many years ago, too young but still lives in your heart. I felt this way until this month I started musing on the following:

Thirteen years ago my step father lost the long battle he had with cancer. He died on April 5th, 1996 on Good Friday. I was ten when he died. He was a great man with a lot of hard love and practical principles of working hard, living moderately and being clean and honest. He had a solid phylosophy and a lot of love for us as his children. My little girl heart often misunderstood him, and because I often the found myself being disciplined, I even thought he was harsh. I didn't realize his love.

Thirteen years passed since he died. I am a completely different person now. I was a loud boisterous little girl that was full of questions. I wanted to have a baby. I wanted to share his coke, I tore my stockings, broke my leg. Tore open my knee and cried when I had to get stitches. I laughed outloud and made big deals out of the fact that my playmate, Billy, was bigger than me but I was OLDER. I didn't do well in school. My handwriting was terrible. I did not like playing outside much.
I wonder if he would be proud of me. I mean I am a young adult now, with a long resume full of seasonaly jobs I held but I have a career at a private school. I think he would call the children I teach "yeppies". I ride a motorcycle, like he did, but it is so different. He restored Harleys while I drive the plastic bike. I use my helmet with joy, while he crused them and used the smallest one possible. He wore black leather, and would go on long trips with his buddies. I use my bike for pure economic reasons. My bike is not a lifestyle for me. I still live with my mother. He always wanted us to look after her. There was a time in my life that I was distant from her but that has passed. I work in the yard when it is needed. I do not have to have it neat to be happy. Same with my clothes. My clothes don't define me. I like pretty and interesting clothes, but Idon't have to be perfectly dressed. I think we would catch. He was a brillant man. He knew many languages although he didn't brag about it. I brag about the limited abilities I have in Spanish and Beeliz Kriol. He was a Causian. He didn't socialize with people different from him. I am not sure why, if it was just convince or a effort, but am friends with everyone. I can chill with people from all different races, because I focus on heart. I think he would disown me for this for some reason. He loved his meat and any good home cooked meal. He expected his wife to have dinenr ready for him. I dislike cooking and I am hapazard about preparing meals. He loved his boys to be boys and his woman to be woman. I grew up gender confused, and I just recently learned that being a woman is a powerful thing.

I read his favourite book while I was in sixth form. It was a short read but it reminded me that he was a very different person than I am. I wonder how my life would have been shaped differently if I had more of his influence in my life. If he had been there to guide my through my teen years, would I have had the struggles I had? My life would be so different....

I still miss him....