Funny How That Works

Today is a very special day to me. On March 22, 1981 I was running the capital 10k (yes….running!) After the race I got word my first niece was born. I went from just a regular guy to an uncle. Being an uncle for the first time is HUGE! Certainly a big responsibility for an 8th grader. Now I don’t want my niece to think she isn’t important, because she is. But March 22 is also the day my oldest daughter’s roommate was born. Again, I don’t want her to think she is not important, because she is, but March 22 is a key day for me for another reason. March 22 is the day I became complete. I crossed over from an individual who only had to worry about himself, to a parent. It was March 22, 1986 that my son was born. I wouldn’t know its importance for about 3 years. I married my son’s mom when he was three. I realize this makes him my step-son, but I have never called him that. “Step” should not cast a negative connotation, but it does. I don’t know why either. When you think about it, Jesus had a step dad. Joseph no doubt loved his step son. Joseph was always a favorite of mine. Could you imagine a teenage Jesus just letting him have it? My son too thought his birth father was God, but it would have really sucked if he was. And no matter how much Joseph loved his son, did he love him any less than his other children? And did Jesus resent Joseph because he wasn’t his real dad? My son always seemed to think growing up that I came in and forced his dad out. Or at least it seemed that way to me. There was always a chip on his shoulder. And mine too. I wonder if Mary and Joseph fought over the discipline of young Jesus? There is another no win situation. And hence this I have decided being a step parent is the toughest job in the world. So I just leave out the step. Hey, I potty trained him; I bought him his first bike, etc, etc. And I love him unconditionally. If that doesn’t give me the right to call him son the whole world can kiss my ass! IJS. I love my son. I don’t think that was ever a question. We had a great time growing up together. We used to go camping with my brothers and their sons. We’d play paintball, cookout and watch the uncles get drunk. Good times! When I was first pressed into parenthood I was green to be sure. I was 21 years old and while most of my friends were out getting drunk and chasing chics, I was now responsible for another life. Parenting didn’t come naturally for me either. My dad died when I was 12. I’m sure I would have learned much more if not for his early demise. My mother was a good role model, but let’s face it……….after the hell my siblings put her thru, she was tired! Looking back on it now, I really have to give my son credit for hanging in there. We had some great times. I remember potty training, learning to ride a bike, being a Cub Scout den leader, tee ball coach, chaperone for dances, and countless fishing/hunting trips. Let’s not forget countless trips to the emergency room for stitches, broken bones and various illnesses that could have just been excuses to get out of tests the following day. One of the best vacations I ever had was when he and I went to Boy Scout camp together. One full week of guy stuff. It was awesome. One day I was picking him up from daycare and someone said to me, “the girls look like their mother but he is the spitting image of you.” I didn’t bother letting her know he wasn’t from my loins. Once he began school there was more drama. It usually started with a teacher calling me “Mr. Hislastname.” When I would tell them my name is Schwab, they would question if I had the right to conduct business on behalf of the child. Then in the 8th grade, god (I mean his dad) decided he wanted to take a stab at parenthood. Over the course of the next year, I went from DAD to Buddy. That was tuff! Shortly after that our relationship deteriorated to nothing. Along with that, so did the marriage I was in. His mom and I were divorced and our contact was little over the next couple of years. I got calls and asked for my opinion on the big things……….i.e.: joining the military. I also got calls before going over to Iraq. But it was upon his return from Iraq where our relationship really rekindled. I think we have both grown up and matured. I also think he knows I’m not going anywhere. He’ll make bad decisions (we all do) and I have continued to love him. He will get married and divorced and I have been there to love him. When he had his own son, I was there to love them both. When he was up to his asshole in alligators I jumped into the water with him and said, “Let’s go!” When he needs an older person’s advice, I am here. I believe he accepts the fact that I am one constant in his life that just isn’t going away. I haven’t been married to his mom for quite some time, but he is still a member of my family. Even though he is 24 years old today, he still calls my siblings, “uncle this” or “aunt that.” He is respectful to all of them, even though I’m not. Schwab Family Christmas or Schwab Family Picnic just wouldn’t be the same without him. Oh, he’s exhibited some of his birth father’s bad habits, but there is no doubt he is my son. This boy is a Schwab for sure. Seeing him now with his own son is so awesome. I don’t believe I was a good dad when I got started. He seems to be. The G/F and I were watching his son this past weekend and I saw my son so many times when I looked into the face of this baby. The baby slept with me at night and I lay awake in bed just watching him. I really don’t think I could love this baby more. But I’m going to try. Same for my son! By an act of fate, I missed being a father at a very young age and a few years later my life was blessed with my son. Funny how that works! I truly believe this was God’s doing. Kind of a payback. I couldn’t help it that I wasn’t there at his conception, but I’m not going to miss any of the rest of his life. I love you boy. Happy Birthday!