A time to look back… into what makes us who we are.
I’m amazed. Looking back on my life of now seventy years, I see decade epochs along the way. I think the actual decade cadence started for me at about age twenty.
Growing up years, good or bad, give us the foundation upon which we build when we reach the age of maturity… whenever that is. My foundational years were good. I am amazed. Though I grew up as a “foster child” in the eyes of everybody but me and my family. I had “Mom” and “Other Mother”. That’s just the way it was – always.
Dad was another story altogether. I’m sorry to say I lost Dad at age nineteen. Dad was sixty-eight. He had emphysema for as long as I can remember. He smoked most of his life, till I came along… aged forty-eight. Mom was forty-four, newly an “empty nester” and most greatly wanting a child to be yet in the house. Hence, foster care was entered – back in 1953 it was “Child Welfare Services.”
I always intended, desired, and have striven to be a man mirroring Dad. He was the greatest man I’ve ever known, and using a country song that jumped out at me some time ago, “I hope I’m at least half the dad that he didn’t have to be.” Brad Paisley wrote that. My own boys are thirty-five and thirty-eight now. The oldest, Sam, once said to me, “Dad, you taught us to be tenacious.” I’m believing they both, Nathan is the youngest, learned of love in our home. That’s the greatest lesson anyone can possibly learn. I’ve watched them both over the years… they treat and respect their wives in just that way. I am most proud of them. I am convinced their Father-in-laws are of the same opinion. Children/grandchildren are yet on the drawing board. My wife is a “PRAY-ER” by the way.
So there ya’ are… almost. I’m gonna’ tell you of the foundation of Mom and Dad; and of Other Mother; and of my Brother (you can read of Tom elsewhere in this blog as well); Sister Nancy (who named me “Nicky” when Mother first brought me home – “Mom, nobody calls a baby ‘Nelson’. I’m naming him Nicky! – – – She did. It stuck.); Mikie (a nickname Dad gave his only, beloved, daughter, Grayce Marilyn (Mom’s first name was Grayce); My nephews; My nieces; and a whole host of other wonderful people (many, as well, in this blog, in other chapters) who did, indeed become the foundation upon which I stand.
Most appropriately, would be my wife, Deborah, who appears in the picture which represents this chapter. I believe she and I were on the Spanish Island of Majorca at the time.
Gosh, golly… ~”Lord God, how did you do this? Just a ‘foster child’ – You made me a rich man. Oh my! O Lord! Amen.”
{By the by – when you see ~ , that means I am uttering a prayer… really. You’ll catch on. Feel free to say “Amen!”.}
