I googled my former stepfather the other day. My search revealed that he is still alive, around 80 years old and owns a house within a few miles of where we once lived. I also came across his profile on LinkedIn, which included what I assume is a fairly recent headshot.
His picture brought back a flood of memories. He was the best father I ever had. We had some good times that I remember fondly. We had many awful times that led my childhood being full of chaos and angst. I was so relieved when my mother finally left him for good when I was 17. It was as if a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.
I only saw him one time after that.
Until I saw his picture this week.
My stepfather was a collector of abandoned children. While I hated how he turned our home into an unofficial way station and unrecognized foster home for 23 other kids and 4 ex-wives and several down-and-out friends, today I respect him for this.
He always made sure those he loved had a roof over their heads, a place to sleep and a plate at the table. Many of the kids he loving called “my babies” weren’t even his. It didn’t matter to him, justice it didn’t matter that I wasn’t his child.
For all of his flaws, I believe he did the best he could to be their father and mine. He tried and never gave up.
It was nice to see his face. He looked much the same. A little thinner, a little older and a bit out of date now.
I wish him well and hope he found some peace, love and happiness in his life.