In Praise of the Stepfather

Those of you who read this column regularly know that virtually no one ever leaves comments.  Rest assured, I will have my vengeance on you all eventually.  One of the few (well, TWO) regular commenters, though, is a fellow named "Anonymous."  Beknownst to some of you, the mystery person behind most--though not all--of Anonymous's comments is none other than DOS--Dad of Solipsist.  To whom I would like to wish a Happy Father's Day.

***************************************************
Growing up, I actually had two fathers.  Now, before I alienate my overwhelmingly right-wing, homophobic readership, let me hasten to add that the second father was in no way a threat to traditional marriage, being the stepfather whom my mother married after my parents divorced.  Take THAT, Focus on the Family! 

My parents divorced when I was about four, and Stepfather of Solipsist (SFOS) came along about three years after that.  He and my Mom got married when I was eight.  Born and raised in Brooklyn, SFOS was a good a gentle man; in the dictionary, under the word "Mensch" should be his picture.  He worked for New York's somewhat euphemistically named "Human Resources Administration"--better known as the Welfare Bureau, first as a case-worker then later as a supervisor.  His job, though, was just that: his job.  While he worked diligently and conscientiously, his job was basically just a source of income and camaraderie--not a real source of passion.

Passion was reserved for sports.  SFOS loved sports, basketball especially.  He played for the City University of New York at a time when that meant something more impressive than it does now--back when CUNY had no open admissions policy and basketball was actually played by Jews (no, honest!).  In high school SFOS played against none other than the future two-time NBA Hall of Famer (player and coach) Lenny Wilkens.  SFOS pointed out that Wilkens could never go to his left.  When asked, then, why SFOS couldn't just overplay him to his right, SFOS replied that he always did.  And?  "Didn't matter."

At the time SFOS and my mother got married, I was, as I mentioned, eight-years-old.  I had not been raised a sports fan.  I liked the Mets--because we lived in Queens--and my favorite player was Tom Seaver--because I had heard of him.  (Later, my favorite player was Mookie Wilson because, come on, "Mookie"!)  Sports, in fact, were something of a pain in my juvenile ass because invariably Sunday football games would go on past 7:00, interrupting the beginning of "Wonderful World of Disney."  (Yes, the nerdiness started young.)

As I grew older, I started to pay more attention to the sporting scene.  In the mid-80's, of course, the Mets got good.  SFOS and I could both thrill to the exploits of the young and godlike Dwight (not yet "Doc") Gooden.  SFOS, having grown up in Brooklyn, had been a Dodgers fan, so his National League allegiances transferred readily to the boys at Shea--as did my mother's Giants' allegiance.  One shudders to think what domestic strife would have ensued had both teams remained in New York.  Anyway, the three of us suffered together through the final agonizing days of the 1985 season, as the Mets fell just short of the Cardinals, and enjoyed the ride to the 1986 World Series title.

By the time the Mets won that title, however, I was away at college.  And while I was no longer around SFOS on a daily basis, his influence continued to be felt.  I started watching football regularly--what else was there to do on Sundays in Syracuse?  And I knew I had arrived at SFOS's level of enthusiasm when, during a Jets playoff loss, I expostulated on the coach's idiotic decision not to take a delay of game penalty late in the fourth quarter that would have set up a better punting situation and probably sealed a victory.  What had I become?!?

SFOS died in 1998--a heart attack.  At his funeral, I told a story about a day when I had gone in to work with SFOS.  This must have been in the late 1970s--possibly pre-"Kramer vs. Kramer"--when "step" families were not as common as they have since become.  At his office, SFOS had introduced me to a couple of people, explaining in agonizing detail exactly how I was related to him.  Later that day, when we went to lunch, SFOS asked if it would be all right if he simply introduced me as his son.  Sure, why not.

In the end, it was true, right?