Many knew him as Big Rig, but that was not something I called him. When I called to him it was usually with the words John-his name, but always with the thought Dad. Clearly he wasn't my biological dad, but I can still remember acutely when they moved to our area. I remember the buzz about the new family, hearing their family biography including the kids names, ages, and genders, and it seems like almost instantly we all feel into friendships with our families intertwined. Their house was the first house I experienced the idea of refrigerator rights with. The idea of such comfort and acceptance that you could walk in and eat whatever they had as if you were at your own house. And despite it being Marlene who I am sure bought all those groceries to feed the masses, did all the dishes afterwards, cleaned her house unendingly as we dervishly tore through room after room, it was John's booming laugh, warm spirit, and jovial nature that made everyone gather near, like we wanted to be in on whatever was going on around him.
They arrived on the scene just before my parents divorce and John devotedly bore the brunt of so much. As an ecclesiastic leader, he often mediated the mess. As a friend, he checked on us, cheered us, and wrapped his arms around us, and as an additional father figure he gave many a lecture, filled with analogies that were lost to my 11, 13, and even sometimes 15 year old mind. I look back and can see how apt most of those lectures were and what an impregnable force he was to support not only ever member of his family, but ours, and a slew of others as well. He stepped into the mostawkward part of my adolescence trying to help smooth the way. He invited me to join his daughter, and my friend- Nicole, to the daddy/daughter dances, he bought me tampons in times of teenage crisis when you are caught totally unaware, and time and time again he took my burdens upon himself as he listened to my worries, assuring me he would take care of it and not to worry. And through a half dozen adolescent years, he was solid, consistent, steadying, and sure.
It was no surprise that he was at my wedding, and for the first year after, anytime we saw one another he would hold up his "view finder" hands and loudly proclaim "newlywed alert, newlywed alert". I didn't understand and with each passing month, I was so determined to prove that Travis and I were no longer newlyweds, but seasoned marital partners. Oh to be so naive and young. He would then chuckle and tell me that we had the glow of newlyweds though. You can just tell when people are newly married, because they always have to be touching one another, they constantly look at each other all moonily, and a host of other little tells. He enlightened me that our actions gave us away as newlyweds. After about two and a half years of marriage, he was still proclaiming "newlywed alert". When I reiterated that we were no longer newlyweds, he assured me he would relinquish the phrase when it was no longer apt. Many years later, with kids in tow, and living farther away, I remember walking into my home church congregation. One of the first people I saw was John. Each time was filled with hugs and catching up, and he said to me "newlywed alert". It had been about ten years, and I sighed dramatically. Sensing my exhaustion, he told me, that this wasn't something that should frustrate me. He said that he had figured out that Travis and I would be the type of marriage to always have a little extra glow about it. And he said that no matter how old I got, how long I was married, or how many kids I had, that he would never be able to forget the image of me in my teen years, walking sleepily through his house after spending the night, running in and out on the weekends, and that I would forever be that young additional daughter to him.
So last year when I took my daughter on her senior trip, an idea inspired by this legend of a man, one of the places we went to was France. His ties to France ran deep, not only in knowing the language, but a myriad of other experiences and family history. As we entered the country, I started humming quietly to myself Aux Champs Elysees and thought of him. It was maybe my third year of camp, age 14, where he came up for Bishop's night. I had been doodling at a picnic table and he came over and joined me offering tips along the way. He was an amazing artist too amidst his never-ending list of talents and skills. As he sat there helping me he started humming this tune. I thought it was catchy and so he proceeded to teach me this little french song. I knew not a lick of French, and so he painstakingly said each syllable over and over, me poorly mimicking the sounds I heard, him translating for me what I was learning to sing. He taught me all about the street the song revered, the bridge filled with locks put on by lovers, and a host of other french history. So as I toured my daughter around this amazing country, I taught her the song then too lyric by lyric. He was on my mind and when I got home, I told him about it briefly over social media. Then just a week ago, something happened when my family was driving in the car, I can't remember exactly what it was, that triggered us all to spontaneously break out into that song. Everyone knows a phrase or two at least and we descended into giggles as happily butchered it.
My insides glowed at such fond memories spanning multiple generations. Then it just as quickly broke when I heard the following week about his death. For me it was unexpected. And so despite my intense heartbreak, I can't imagine how his family must feel. For every one of my memories of which there are hundreds, they must have thousands. This was a man who never lived halfway and that sometimes makes the absence so much more encompassing. But of this I am sure, this man knew from whence would come his redemption and resurrection. He taught it to his family, my family, a church congregation, and everyone he met. He lived it, and his kids live it. I feel confident that when the day comes, they will all be together again. His arms will be outstretched, his booming voice, his laughing face, and affectionate embrace will be waiting to meet them. So despite his physical absence he remains, "the man, the myth, and the legend" even still and forever.
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