| My biological father was not a father to me, not a dad. I don't mean to judge him. It is a simple fact. "Jack" was an alcoholic and he was simply not capable of being a dad. Mom divorced him before I was two years old. I have one fuzzy memory of Jack putting me to bed sometime before I was two years old. The next memory is of meeting him when I was 22 years old. Then when he died eventually from complications of his alcoholism, I served his funeral.
Mom remarried. I was about six years old, I think. Larry, my stepfather, was a man of few words, but he was my dad. He took on three boys in marrying mom -- me at age six and my two older brothers five years older than I. And Larry brought his own son into the family. But he treated us all as his sons - there was no difference. He was there for us in his quiet way, strong, present, loving, a firm disciplinarian when we needed it. Larry was a father to me in every way that counts.
What I did not know is that Larry was an alcoholic - and so was my mom. I learned that after mom's death. There was no evidence of a drinking problem in their life together, in our home. In Mom and Dad's love for each other they kept each other sober. They loved each other enough to deal with their addictions.
After mom died, Larry slipped back into drinking - for a while. Eventually he reclaimed sobriety and remained sober until his death almost two years ago.
Larry told me - now, of course, an adult and a priest - about my mom's problem and how they helped each other to be sober.
So what did my Dad teach me? It was not in words but in action ("preach the Gospel - if necessary, use words"). Dad didn't need the words. It was that mutual love does have the power to change people's lives. Their love brought the gift of sobriety which made our family life possible.
I pray for Jack, my father; I give thanks for Larry, my Dad.
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