Two very important things have been weighing heavy on my mind
lately.
For anyone who knows me, having two important things on my mind
at one time is quite a feat, so I feel the need to expound on
both.
Two very important things have been weighing heavy on my mind lately.
For anyone who knows me, having two important things on my mind at one time is quite a feat, so I feel the need to expound on both.
These two things have to do with two important men in my life. One is my father, the other is a man I would be proud to call Dad any day of the week.
I’ve written about my dad in the past, but for anyone who hasn’t had the privilege of reading every single one of my columns ( I can’t imagine who wouldn’t vehemently tear open the paper every Thursday to see what I have to say, but I’m sure they’re out there somewhere), I’ll say it again.
I’d be lost without him.
He is the anchor that grounds me when my life is precariously close to floating away on the winds of uncertainty and doubt, naivete and confusion.
He is the one who talks me out of quitting my job every time I get a little stressed out by calmly and diplomatically putting my life in perspective: “Erin, we will not support you if you quit your job and have no money. Repeat, you cannot come home and be a bum again, so deal with it.”
He is the one who calls to remind me to check the oil in my car, and somehow is able to understand and rectify the problem when I come home and sheepishly confess I never did, now it’s bone dry… and what do you think that burning smell could be, Dad?
He was the one who got up at 4 o’clock in the morning to drive four hours from Chico to the Bay Area to help me buy a classic Corvette I just had to have that now sits in their drive way because I can’t afford to drive it.
And he doesn’t get too mad when I innocently ask him why he didn’t inform me of the fact that Corvettes get crappy gas mileage and are expensive to fix if they break down before he let me buy it.
He is the one I compare all other men to.
And the person all other men fail miserably in comparison to.
The other man who has made an indelible impression on my life is my ex-boyfriend’s father, Steve.
Steve is the glass is always half full kind of person.
He is an engineer who works 80 hour weeks and deals with cranky motorists and pedestrians whining and crying about construction delays on a daily basis. But I’ve never heard him mutter “Oh, woe is me,” once.
When he asks how my job is going and I start off on another tirade of what’s irritating me or causing me angst, he patiently listens and offers advice on how to cope, and reminds me again what’s important and what’s not.
When his oldest son and my boyfriend, Ben, died in a car accident several years ago, he lost one of the people who could tell him how influential of a father-figure he is and how much his love and devotion means to an impressionable mind.
I can only imagine that parenthood is tough – an endeavor I certainly am not ready to undertake any time soon – and any added praise is welcome, I’m sure.
And because Steve is someone who is so totally deserving of the most ardent praise, it is all I can do to humbly say thank you.
Thank you for epitomizing the definition of strength and courage through difficult times.
Thank you for letting me cuss in front of you when something I’m talking about warrants an occasional (or five or six) atrocious expletives – something I don’t do too much of with my own dad.
And thank you for taking me into your home like I was part of your family – something that, in another time, in another life, could have been an actual possibility.
Both my dad and Steve are exemplary father figures, and anyone, myself included, would be lucky to know either.
Happy Father’s Day.
Erin Musgrave can be reached at 637-5566, ext. 336 or at
em*******@fr***********.com.
