HAPPY BIRTHDAY...
TO STEVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My stepfather is the best.
Really, I should make up a new word for him, because "stepfather" conjures up images of stiff hugs and obligatory family situations. And Steve Gettinger is the exact opposite of those things.
He is the only person to ever plaster his office with my poems. He makes the funnist faces and the silliest jokes. He sings, even though he sings offkey. His smile is the slowest smile, but it means the most.
He's good to everyone. My sister would be a bundle of jelly if it weren't for Steve, and my mom would have spun right off this planet... into the stratosphere... if he weren't there to hold her hand.
He pours the good wine and sits patiently when the rest of us refuse to shut up. He makes the flowers grow. He sneaks donuts when nobody is looking.
This summer, he had shingles while we were in Italy, and he never complained... just gritted his teeth, swallowed some painkillers, and kept on trooping.
Near the end of the trip my mom found him sitting at a table in front of some VAPE (bug poison) and she said, "Steve?"
And Steve said, "I'm going to eat the VAPE. I'm going to eat it" He gritted his teeth and looked up at her...
Because he was MISERABLE. But he he wanted to make it funny.
He made it. Funny. He made it happy. He does that. Often.
I love Steve, and I admire him. He's one of my heroes, though I'm not sure he always knows it.
Last year, Steve's kitty died, and the kitty was his mommy's kitty. And before that his mommy passed away too.
All of those things are very sad, and they were VERY sad for Steve. Because Steve, being a quiet kind person, feels things ALOT, even when he doesn't say much. You can just tell. He feels things.
And since I live in Iowa, I can't be with Steve today, but if I could be with him, I'd hug him. And I would give him a kitty.
But I can't so I want to give him this:
Meow. Steve. Meow to you!
My stepfather is the best.
Really, I should make up a new word for him, because "stepfather" conjures up images of stiff hugs and obligatory family situations. And Steve Gettinger is the exact opposite of those things.
He is the only person to ever plaster his office with my poems. He makes the funnist faces and the silliest jokes. He sings, even though he sings offkey. His smile is the slowest smile, but it means the most.
He's good to everyone. My sister would be a bundle of jelly if it weren't for Steve, and my mom would have spun right off this planet... into the stratosphere... if he weren't there to hold her hand.
He pours the good wine and sits patiently when the rest of us refuse to shut up. He makes the flowers grow. He sneaks donuts when nobody is looking.
This summer, he had shingles while we were in Italy, and he never complained... just gritted his teeth, swallowed some painkillers, and kept on trooping.
Near the end of the trip my mom found him sitting at a table in front of some VAPE (bug poison) and she said, "Steve?"
And Steve said, "I'm going to eat the VAPE. I'm going to eat it" He gritted his teeth and looked up at her...
Because he was MISERABLE. But he he wanted to make it funny.
He made it. Funny. He made it happy. He does that. Often.
I love Steve, and I admire him. He's one of my heroes, though I'm not sure he always knows it.
Last year, Steve's kitty died, and the kitty was his mommy's kitty. And before that his mommy passed away too.
All of those things are very sad, and they were VERY sad for Steve. Because Steve, being a quiet kind person, feels things ALOT, even when he doesn't say much. You can just tell. He feels things.
And since I live in Iowa, I can't be with Steve today, but if I could be with him, I'd hug him. And I would give him a kitty.
But I can't so I want to give him this:
Meow. Steve. Meow to you!
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home