I did not believe it when I learned that Chuck, the man who would become my stepdad, had never served in the military.  All the men in my life since then had served -- grampa, uncles, my own father, now deceased – and the notion that a man could grow to maturity without ever having been in uniform confounded me, to say the least.  I did not know it was possible.  I had no idea that it was even an option.  Since I could remember, I was raised on a mythology of masculinity that was inexorably framed by service to the country.  It was simply what one did as a male.  To meet a guy who somehow circumnavigated what I thought to be a fate as sure as the rising sun prompted me, in the very least, to wonder how a man could become a man without going through the gauntlet of boot camp and drill sergeants, orders and the ever-present possibility that one could be deployed in an instant.  But here I was, perplexed, before a man it took a good while for my mother to invite for dinner.  There were five of us kids, after all.  And who knows how Chuck might react. 

He enjoyed the pot roast, and we kids behaved, and soon enough, we found ourselves in a period of transition from living at home with a single widowed mother to living with mom and a man who was willing to pick up the slack and do the things men do for their families: provide, protect, and teach.  I marvel at his boldness still.  If there was baggage, mom had it in spades, yet Chuck would not be dissuaded. 

I will not pretend that his primary motivation was to become a stepfather.  He loved my mother; she was and remains the primary impetus for moving forward in the relationship.  That he did so knowing full well that it was, as they say, a package deal points to a different level of commitment altogether: one that is difficult not to be impressed with. 

The death of a loved one can certainly inspire such negative thinking, but a year or so after the death of my own father, a man came along – Chuck – and gave my family, his new family, tracks to go on – a new hope, a new way forward, a stable and prosperous future.  Simply by saying yes, he picked up the shards of a broken family and rebuilt it – a nuclear family.  With challenges.  With hiccoughs.  With trials and tests.  Just like every other family with a mom and dad and kids to clothe and feed.  One man’s noble decision gave structure to the emotionally rattled.  What would our world look like if more men stepped into the broken parts of our society, rolled up their sleeves, and set to rebuilding it?  I, for one, have a guess – an informed one, to be sure. 

Here is a poem I wrote.  I hope it lands well. 

Stepdad 

I think Chuck had already 

asked mom 

to marry him, which is why 

they arranged a time for me and him 

to get to know each other 

better.  It was just the 

two of us: the newest, last man, the oldest boy. 

First I was to help him 

finish carpeting the inside of 

his brown Bronco, and then 

we were going to lift weights. 

I had never done either. 

In that order, I suppose, neither had 

Chuck.  But that’s what we did 

on the first day of 

this leg together, 

him stapling tan carpet around the 

Frisbee-sized speakers, later, 

me, bending my weakling arms to 

my weakling chest with 

K-mart weights and 

getting awkward pointers along the way 

from a man with tinted glasses and a 

moustache, a man who loved Steely Dan, 

Eric Clapton, my mother, and, not long down the 

road, me, who continues to puzzle over 

carpeting consoles – those goofy things 

dads do.