You know, I’ve written a little bit about a lot of different subjects. Intolerance, hate, bigotry, racism, religion, Trump, Republicans and Democrats, My upbringing. But one thing I haven’t wrote about is Love. It seems like a tough subject to write about, especially in light of current events and the current political arena. Like Foreigner used to sing “I want to know what love is”
What is real love? Growing up was tough. My Mom married my "real" father twice. He was never a part of my life, except when he was forced to be. He was sexually perverted. He was a thief who spent years in our prison system, learning "his craft". I and my brother are alive, because he chose to have sex with a teenage girl, against the law even then, and my Grandfather, a tough, no nonsense truck driving Teamster, gave him a choice, Marriage or prison, and knowing my Grandfather, more than likely "death" was a possibility probably offered too. He was 22. She was 16. He "was" a sailor, she was in high school. This was the late 50's. Sex education was summed up in 3 words. "Just say no." It worked as well now as it did then. I’m somewhat different than a lot of people I know. My memories go back to when I was two or three, and they are more nightmares the good. I can remember him trying to kill us as a little child. Waking up in the middle of a cold, Indiana winter, after he had turned the heat off, opened all the doors and windows and took the phone and left the three of us to freeze to death. He chose to go to Chicago, in the middle of the night, and didn’t want a "Family" when he returned. He may deny it, because I was three, but I can describe the trailer, my bed, where they slept and even the girlie magazines he kept at the time. I remember it all. My mom "verified" what I remembered, after I asked her about it, not before. She said" You can’t possibly remember that, you were only three." I described it, in detail to her and she cried. It was one of about a thousand memories she had hoped we would never remember, as we got older. But what does his evil have to do with love?
Well I’ll tell you. She was a 19 or 20 yr. old girl with two children abandoned in the dead of winter to die. Yet she walked to the nearest phone, after closing the windows and doors, getting her sons dressed and putting them in the back bedroom, under all the blankets and coats she could find, and made it to a phone through the snow and wind to call my grandfather to come and get us. She didn’t have a coat, or winter shoes. She loved her sons so much, she risked death to get them help. A lesson I never forgot. That love meant putting others safety and welfare above your own, even at the risk of death. His actions made my Mom my hero. My grandfather who had always been a hard drinking hard living truck driver, took us in; no questions asked. He treated me and my brother like his own kids, except without the alcohol and anger. He taught us manners, etiquette, respect. He became a hero of mine too. Even after my Mom remarried, he was an enteric part of my life and someone who listened to the typical rantings of a teenager and young adult, and was quick to teach me about moral choices, often through his rough upbringing and other stories of his own mistakes. I truly loved the man with all my heart. I still miss him even today.
My "stepfather"(the only Father I claim) is my hero too. He came from a family that never said I love you. They never displayed affection. Dad still has a hard time saying I love you and showing affection too. He was several years younger than my Mom and took on a readymade family, which his Mom and Dad were against. He busted his butt, though, to give us a life. He made sure we had what we needed. We didn’t often have a lot, but he tried as hard as anyone I had ever known. He taught us work ethics. He taught us responsibility. He taught us "family above all else". He seldom said I love you or hugged or kissed, but you just knew he really did by his attitude and actions. Mom had three more kids. Two more boys, and finally a girl. It wasn’t an easy life. Dad worked all the time. Mom raised us for the most part. We didn’t have much of anything, but we always had enough, even if they went without to make sure we had. I remember Salvation Army Christmases, Getting and eating commodities (before food stamps, the government gave you food for your family for the month) being given unlabeled cans that may have been dented too, from grocery stores. We lived in a tiny 2 bedroom farm house that had an open cesspool just off the back yard. It wasn’t easy, but we always felt loved. From Mom and Dad, My Moms parents, from each other.
I quit school to work full time to help our family. My brother did the same. Dad got laid off during the winter months and we felt the responsibility to step up, because we could. Life got easier and somewhat better. My little brothers and sister don’t and won’t remember what we used to do to get there. How hard it was. The ridicule, humiliation, the pride, which is a blessing and a curse.
I was 18 when I learned to drive. I was 22 before I ever had sex. I went into the Navy. While in basic training, I blew a knee out and took an honorable discharge. I held a lot of anger in me about that. It had been both a good experience and a bad one. Good because it taught me self-control, the importance of teamwork, to sleep less and work more. Bad because the recruiter had outright lied to me to get me to enlist. He had made promises about culinary school that were just lies and wrong so he could get his bonus and numbers. Things I wasn’t told the truth on till after I had been in boot camp for a month or so. Then my knee gave out, supposedly for a birth defect I had as a child and I left. I felt like a loser. I hated myself and the service. But as always, there was my family to help me through. My little brother had been in for about 3 years, when I came home. He helped me get over the anger. My family helped me get over the self-hate. My brother had gotten married and had an apartment off base with his new wife. They invited me to come east and live with them. I accepted and went. It was one of the best decision of my life. My life changed. I got a great job, working for and with people that became my East Coast Family. I met my "first" wife there. We loved each other and hated each other too. But we made changes for the kids. She was the mother of two small children, a son of 4 and a daughter who was 2. I loved them to death and wanted them to always have the best. I wanted them to love and excel at school. They did too. They were never punished about school. We made it fun. We made them want to go. To want to excel. I think we realized we didn’t actually love each other when we moved back to Indiana. We stayed together so the kids could continue to excel and grow in a "normal" family environment. Jobs weren't as easy to get here. Wages were lower.
Her sister and her children lived with us too. We drifted apart, more each day. But the kids always came first. I supplemented our income anyway I could, even illegally. Not a proud moment in my life, but it paid the bills and helped us maintain a certain lifestyle. We hid these things successfully from our kids. We loved our kids. Her ex had given up all parental rights, when we left the east coast. I was there only dad, at the time. Their Mom and I divorced after she met and fell in love with another married man. He died in an unfortunate accident and she chose to move back east. It wasn’t friendly and there was a lot of anger and bitterness between us for years afterwards. Though we have somewhat become friends again over the years, at the time I felt betrayed and distrusted women in general. I had to learn to like myself again. For a few years, I didn’t date or want to date. I buried myself in my work. Friends and family kept wanting to "fix me up". Mom suggested a "good Pentecostal girl" was what I needed. But I remained single.
Then my brother, still in the Navy, suggested placing an ad in our local paper. He said "just put what you’re looking for in the ad and see where it goes”. Most of the responses didn’t match what I was looking for. They either wanted a dad for their kids, or quick sex. Both, at the time, I wasn’t interested in. I was getting ready to throw in the towel. I was okay being by myself. I had a house, a decent job, and everything I needed, except love.
I answered one more ad. She was a gorgeous woman who was a few years older than me. Long Blonde hair, a great job, and going through a similar set of circumstances, and so easy to talk to. We had similar pasts, had lived and grew up in the same general area and knew many of the same people. I met her mother and son and fell in love with both. It felt like we had known each other forever. She became my best friend. We dated and often talked all night. Something felt different. Something felt right. After our third date, she kissed me. I had never felt a kiss, ever, like that kiss. I knew then this was right. She is an amazing woman. An Amazing friend, daughter and mother.
That was 22 years ago. I feel today, even stronger about her than I did then. I've never looked back or regretted it. Neither has she. She is still my best friend. The person I trust the most in the world. The person I would gladly die for, with no regrets.
Which brings me to the point of this blog.
CNN interviewed a woman who was involved in the terrorist attack on her and her friends this weekend. She was friends with the woman who died. She was alive because her fiancé had shoved her out of the path of the car and got hit himself. He risked his life to save her. To make sure she didn’t get hit. It broke his leg and the first question he asked her was " I didn’t hurt you when I shoved you did I?" "You’re okay?" He broke his leg shoving her. He could have easily died. He put her life ahead of his own. She meant more to him than getting injured and possibly dying. And, even after getting his leg broke, he was worried he pushed her to hard and may have hurt her.
If you or your significant other wouldn’t do at least the same for "each other", then you are not actually in love. I've known a few women over the years who sex was great with. We couldn't get enough of each other, but it was not someone who I would die for. I’ve known women I could talk about anything to. We were close friends, but I wouldn’t die for them. Even my ex-wife, I don’t think I would have died for either. BUT when I met my wife all that changed. I have no doubt, ever, she would die to save me, as I would gladly die to save her. I couldn't imagine my life without her. I think the gentleman who pushed his fiancé out of the way, should be an example of what love is. He is now one of my heroes too.