A Template For All...

    You know, birthdays come and go. And to be completely honest with you, dear reader, I'm one of those people who could care less, unless it's one of those milestone birthdays. You know the ones...eighteen, twenty-one, thirty, forty, fifty, etc. And even then, as long as my family and the significant other remembers, I'm good. Having said that, I am always extremely grateful for the Facebook birthday wishes that come my way every year. At the risk of repeating myself, and you know how I hate repeating myself, I have the best friends. 
    That said....enough about me and MY birthday! My, that felt strange to type! I bet it did, Boss. I'm not sure those words, in that order, were ever typed or even spoken by you! Very nice, Sancho...but it's a special month.
    For good or ill, like some of you, I get to celebrate two "fatherly" birthdays. I've mentioned my father in this space once or twice, but I can get to him later. I mean, he's dead so what does he care! C'mon...take it easy people, I say that with much love and admiration. But today I'd rather focus on the living. 

    So now that the month of March has rolled around, how does one begin to say "Happy Birthday" and at the same time describe a stepfather/stepson relationship? I've known Preston Duane Phillips, or Duane as everyone calls him, since I was 4-years-old. My family moved to Bristol, Pa. in 1965 when my father (the dead one) became pastor of the Bristol Church of the Nazarene. Duane and his family were already members of this particular evangelical oasis on the corner of Wilson Avenue and Cleveland Street...and your typical church friendship was born. Duane had more hair back then (and it's quite possible that he was taller!), but even at that young age, I knew he was a man of warmth and integrity. 
    Time goes on (and since many of you know the back-story, I'll skip that and get right to the stepfather/stepson part), parents get divorced, move away, and after a period of time a partial, broken family returns to the scene of the emotional crime...well, at least this partial, broken family did. Before you know it, in 1972 my mother has a boyfriend I don't want her to have, and THEN I have a stepfather I don't really want (I mean, I certainly wasn't consulted on this weighty, life-changing matter), and Duane has a stepson he's probably wishing he didn't have...sort of! And trust me, it took me a long time to go from "Mr. Phillips," to "Duane" in those early years of the courting tap-dance! I can't believe I just typed that...the courting tap-dance! Kill me now! But here's the thing, kids; Duane knew how to be a friend even in those early years. Don't get me wrong, he had to be a father figure as well, and that usually didn't end well for me! You know what I mean? Although I have no idea why he would get angry with my taking the family car to the Villa Capri, a fine dining establishment in Trenton, NJ...UNDERAGE!!...with Jack Albert Pepper, Jr. as my wing-man! I mean...what could possibly go wrong?! 

    As time passed, I finally became mature enough (yes, I did just type those words) to begin to reciprocate the friendship that Duane had been trying to cultivate. I think that's how it has always been. I mean, Duane was really more of a stepfather to my brother, Steve. He was young enough to be molded by Duane. They went hunting (I kid you not! They shot things and brought them home! To EAT!! The horror!) and fishing together, and did all of those other god-awful things that outdoorsy, manly-men do. Duane taught Steve about using tools, like saws and hammers, something called a screw-driver, and...the heavens forfend...a putty knife! I still ask, what the hell is a putty knife?! They would experiment and discuss building things out in this structure we had in the back yard called a shed, and somehow they always seemed to return to the aforementioned hunting and fishing...again...the horror! All humor aside, they really were great together. A true father-son relationship. The incredible upside is, my brother took all that information to heart and now plans out and builds wonderful, extravagant homes for a living! While at the same time, leaving room in his life for the hunting and fishing and all the other gross stuff. And because I'm an idiot, I need to call either Duane or Steve to come and fix the toilet! Unbelievable...

    I, of course, was a lost cause. I was already bouncing a basketball down Willow Drive to the local pool/playground/basketball courts (Magnolia Park, for you Levittowners out there), annoying every neighbor along the way, as well as spending almost every other free minute I had right up the street in the local Bucks County Public Library, at the corner of the Parkway and Mill Creek Road, reading every book sitting on those shelves. And when I wasn't doing all of that, I was banging on the piano in the living room whenever I got a chance, creating chords that, obviously, were not meant for the human ear! None of those things were in Duane's wheelhouse, as it were, and that was fine. Although he did throw me a curve later in life when I found out that he was a quiet devotee of Emily Dickinson! How cool is that? Step-fathers...you can't trust them sometimes! But the main thing he would do in those important teen-age years was just ask if there was anything I needed and then admonish me not to talk back to my mother! 

    Duane worried, scolded, but MOST importantly...he LOVED. And if you'll permit me, dear reader, here's one of the, if not the BEST, step-father stories ever. Before I was old enough to be left home alone while my family went on those horrific camping trips so I could throw parties for many of you dopes reading this (and yes, the parents knew...they always knew), I had to go with them! Ugh...! Camping? REALLY? In one of those pop-up TRAILERS? OUTDOORS?! My god, is there anything worse? Just awful. Bugs everywhere; flying and crawling...a small Bunion, Burlap, Bunsen, whatever the hell it's called...Burner, so you could dine on baked beans. Not to mention the fish that Steve and Duane caught in the local lake. Awful! Give me the Pennsbury High School fish sticks any day! Ah, we kid because we love! Thank the gods cavemen evolved. Couldn't do it. Get to the story, Boss!! Oh, yeah...my bad.

    Anyway, you know what Duane does when we're on of these trips down the river STYX to HADES? He makes sure that whatever campground we were at (and we camped at a lot of 'em), had a basketball court. I kid you not. That was his criteria! UNBELIEVABLE? And let me just state for the record, that was NOT my mother's criteria! I mean, one trip it's midnight, somewhere near the NORTH POLE, and the four of us (well, five, if you count Cinder, The Wonder-Dog! Yes, we had to drag the poor dog on these excursions.) are exhausted, cranky...you name it. We've been driving for weeks and we're somewhere in a place called Maine, which I think is right near the NORTH POLE! We were like the Israelites following a clearly psychotic Yahweh wandering through the desert! We FINALLY find one of those KOA campgrounds (remember them?) and Duane goes into the office and comes out exactly 7.8 seconds later. As we leave the grounds my mother looks at him with just a hint of disdain and says, "What was wrong with that place?" And you know what? Duane didn't even blink! "No basketball courts," he replied, as he just kept on driving. I thought the marriage was done right then and there. Cinder the Wonder-Dog actually feared for her life. What about your brother, Boss? He slept through it all. He loved the great outdoors! What did he care? Fortunately for everyone involved (especially Cinder), another campground with a basketball court was 30 miles up the road. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! HOW GOOD IS THAT! I should have written TIME Magazine right then and there! PRESTON DUANE PHILLIPS...BEST STEPDAD EVER! 

    Well, time marches on. High school led to college, then to the first real job and living on one's own; to relationships, short and long, and then to real relationships. Duane was there for every one of 'em. For every personal and professional up and down. He was there with counsel, and he was there with a gentle hand on the knee, followed by words of wisdom that came from a sense of self and a sense of the world that even as I was growing older, was still not wise enough to understand at the time. He might have sighed and shaken his head at times when the pitfalls of life were of my own doing and not a consequence of others, but he never righteously judged. He would just look at me and say, "You have to be better." And he was right. It was his way of looking out for me.

    Now, in the twilight of his life (he's going to be 93-years-old this month, but doing great...thanks for asking) he still dispenses wisdom, stories of family history, and even wise thoughts on current events or current family matters, just as if he were the spry young age of 80! He doesn't walk as much as he used to. When I tell him that I went to the gym and then did 2-3 hours in Tyler State Park or played a round of golf, I can see the sadness and jealously in his face. He's had to sell the serious tools in the garage like the table saw and the power tools, etc. I know that had to hurt because he loved, and was great at, working with his hands. But he understood and accepted it as a consequence of old age. I said to him, "How come I didn't get any of the tools?" He replied, "I didn't want you to die before me!" A snarky sense of humor and step-father love...no matter how old! 

    Hey Boss. Isn't Duane's birthday at the end of the month, on the 25th? Why, yes it is Sancho. But the way I see it, if you survive the 20th century and all it's horror, and then make it into the third decade of the 21st century, surviving the craziness and stupidity of the last decade or so, as well as surviving 7, that's right, SEVEN, sisters...you get the whole month to celebrate! So, my friends, if you happen to see Duane taking a short walk up to his mailbox, or maybe pass him at the McCaffrey's Supermarket in Newtown, Pa., or having brunch at Jake's Eatery in Newtown, give him a wave and a "Happy 93rd, Duane"! He'll love that! 

    The title of this piece refers to a template. Now, ever since men and women have been getting married and having kids, there has been divorce, remarriage, and step-fathers. And while I'm sure there have been many wonderful step-fathers throughout history, at the risk of sounding like a homer...I can't think of a better one than mine. And no better template for the office. 

    My dearest Duane...I hope this piece didn't embarrass you too much. But you deserve it, and so much more. I hope that over the years, I at least came close to reciprocating all that you have done for me. I want you to know that the day you and Mom got together...you saved us. And as I was the one who probably needed saving the most, thank you for being such a wonderful friend and guide. As long as I live, I will never, ever forget that. The term step-father can seem so constraining and lacking in meaning. So, to the greatest DAD ever! Happy Birthday Old Man!! I love you. Your son, Peter 

    write to Duane here: magtour@icloud.com