I had planned to write a funny post about my latest Formerly Hot moment, which took place last week when it was unseasonably warm.
I was in Maryland visiting friends and was chasing after my kids on the playground and sweating like a baked potato that someone forgot to poke air holes in. It occurred to me that as recently as 10 years ago, I would have taken my top off and pretended my purple bra was a bikini top. Now that I’m a Formerly, that seemed like a uniquely bad idea. I was going to say something about the bra, which wasn’t as cute as the kinds of bras I wore back then, and of course my boobs, which require less cute and more supportive scaffolding-type materials to support them. It was going to be a real crack-up.
But then my stepfather, who had been fighting cancer, succumbed two days ago, and that all seemed even sillier than usual. David was a wonderful man, optimistic almost to the point of delusion, which served him and the many people he helped in his almost 75 years very well. He was the unofficial mayor of South Orange, NJ, where he lived from the time his kids were small, and after his divorce, was one of the first single dads to have sole custody back in the early 1970s. He was the kind of guy who would give you a job at his public relations office over the summer when you were home from college, even if there was no work to be done, just so you could earn some green, pad your resume, and not feel like a moocher. He was a pre-hippie era hippie, working up until he died for various peace action groups around New Jersey, and doing so much pro bono PR work for worthy causes that the New Jersey chapter of the Public Relations Society of America, the professional organization he belonged to, named a public service award after him.
He represented the sugar industry for many years in his PR work, but probably more important to the sugar industrial complex, ate his body weight in candy and ice cream each week. The day after he died, a gigantic gift basket full of Godiva and English toffee and gourmet popcorn arrived for him from the PRSA of NJ. My mom burst into tears, thinking how much he would have appreciated that. I, too, am a great lover of sweets, but because I try to be reasonable about it, limiting my daughters to candy OR cookies OR ice cream OR pie OR cupcakes at a single meal, he teased me about being a health food freak, asking with exaggerated solicitation if it was OK if my daughters had a single peanut M&M.
As it is when someone important to you dies, you think about his influence on your life, which calls to mind the emotional place you were when you first met the person. I have said many times that David was largely responsible for the fact that I did not grow up to be a man-hating shrew in a rotten marriage. He showed up and was kind to me and my mother and my brother (who is autistic) when I was 15 or so, at a time when I was nurturing an affinity for assholes. I had many reasons back when I was a teenager to think ill of boys and men, and he was a living, breathing example that not all men treated women poorly. (This is not to slag my dad, but from my simplistic, adolescent perspective, I didn’t see shades of gray.) Of course, I fully exhausted my asshole options in the dating world before gradually working my way toward my wonderful, non-asshole husband, but having David in my life was a background reminder to me that there were other, better options.
I’m sure David had his own Formerlies, things he left behind in favor of the man he became, but I didn’t know him when he was young. To me, he was a remarkably consistent, principled, generous straight-shooter, and he will be missed beyond what I can express here.
November 20, 2009 at 9:39 am
He sounds like a wonderful man. I’m so sorry for your loss.
November 20, 2009 at 9:44 am
Wow. Such a beautiful tribute.
November 20, 2009 at 10:14 am
I am very sorry for your loss. I am also very glad that you have shared about the kind of person that David was and what he reprsented in your life beyond just the moniker of ‘step-father.’ I have always said, we all have a story, and that story then becomes larger than just the story itself since we live interdependent upon each other and collide with one another, and almost like pollen in the wind, our stories become interwoven and thus bigger by the multiplied accumulation which cannot then be separated….We all, like it or not, in large, become who we are because of who’s stories have been interwoven with ours, and, what a different place this world would be had David not been woven together with you. I thank David for having shared himself with so many, and most of all with you. I thank you for sharing this with us, and for becoming so givng, just like him too.
November 20, 2009 at 11:05 am
Glad for a brief glimpse into such a great man. I agree, a beautiful tribute.
November 20, 2009 at 12:49 pm
I’m so sorry for your loss, Steph. Your stepfather sounds like he was an amazing man, who really found the sweetness in life (in every sense of the word). My thoughts are with you and your family. Big hugs.
November 20, 2009 at 2:53 pm
I’ve been through this so I know how hard it is.
I feel like I’ve gotten to know a piece of you reading this truly beautiful tribute. Thanks for sharing his story!
November 20, 2009 at 3:36 pm
David is now making his way without illness, pain or worry… without fatigue, discomfort or hindrance of any stripe. Unlike the rest of us, he is wholly at peace and free of all suffering.
As long as you and your mom continue to remember your stepfather in a loving, happy positive light, he will have achieved precisely the sort of ‘immortality’ that most of us living humans waste an inordinate amount of time and energy pursuing.
All the best to all of you…!!!
November 20, 2009 at 5:43 pm
Steph,
This is concurrently, moving and humorous despite the occasion. Truly amazing feat, considering the circumstance. Again, so sorry for your loss.
November 20, 2009 at 5:45 pm
wow, wow, wow. i have no doubt that david is smiling from above & has the same admiration for you as well. these are truly beautiful, poignant words. xox
November 20, 2009 at 9:33 pm
I feel your devastation, but also your gratitude that David entered your world in the first place. I know all too well how difficult it can be to accept someone else’s children in your life, and to love and to guide them with magnanimity and love. He seems to have done it so well, and what a tribute to a “stepdad” that you would write about him with such clarity and passion. I’m sorry for your loss, Steph, for your whole family’s loss. It feels as tremendous as all that you enjoyed and gained from by having him in your life in the first place.
November 20, 2009 at 10:57 pm
Thank you Stephanie for those lovely words about David. He was my cousin, and the only member of my father’s family, beside my sister, of my generation that I was close to and wanted to stay connected to. Sweet David. His optimism was amazing. He was able to see the good. He truely listened and cared and I did love him. I’m so sorry he had to leave too soon, but I am glad he had such a giving loving life. Take care Stephanie, and give your mom a kiss for me. Love. Cecilia
i
November 21, 2009 at 8:16 pm
The picture you posted could not be more beautiful, capturing someone so clearly loving and loved. Although he left you too soon, it is clear your step-father clearly had an immense positive impact on the world and the people in his life. I am so glad he was there for you, your brother and your mom. As sad as this is, I feel enriched and heartened reading about his outlook and the life that he lived. Thanks for sharing this glimpse in your honest and insightful way. I am reminded that living openly and generously is the best legacy one can have.
November 22, 2009 at 8:28 am
Dear Stephanie,
I found your tribute to David when I was attempting to find an obituary for him. It is a wonderful tribute and beautifully written. David was a special person, and it was not a surprise to know what a positive influence he was in your life. Our deepest sympathies –