Frank was my first stepfather. My parents divorced when I was no older than one or two, and I don't have even the faintest memories of their married years, so Frank is the earliest father figure I can remember. Just guessing here, I would say that my mother was no older than 19 when she married Frank, and he was considerably older. I remember he was balding and he was involved in hotel management. He, like my father, was from Mississippi.

Frank was a player. I don't know the details, but I remember many times over the years family members spoke of his accelerated aging and attributed it to his fast lifestyle. I remember he was one of the first people to own a Mustang. It was bronze colored. That's when I learned a new word "bronze". Appropriate when you think about it. What better material to glamorize an old shoe.

When I was just a toddler, he packed us all up and moved us to Las Vegas, where he had some kind of hotel job. That was about 40 years ago, so you can imagine what the town was like at that time. Las Vegas was just getting established as a gambling mecca. I, of course, have no memories of any of that. My only memory of our Las Vegas days was that I fell down a set of stairs and busted my chin. And to be honest, I can't swear that that really happened. I do remember being in the car with Frank in a hotel parking garage (probably in Baton Rouge, after returning from Nevada), when he was talking with an attractive woman in a familiar way. When she left, I said "who was that, Daddy?" He said "That's my girlfriend. Don't tell Mama." He was probably joking. I can't imagine leaking such information to a pre-schooler, knowing how they talk, but he said not to tell, so I kept quiet about it. It seems like we were in that same parking garage another time when he and my mother were fighting and he gave her a check, which she ripped to pieces and threw at him.

We also lived in Jackson, Mississippi during the Frank years. I say "we", but it was just us kids. Mom had packed us up and sent us to live with Frank's parents for reasons she's never fully explained, so I had the opportunity to live on the farm for a while. I have clearer memories of the farm than of anything else from that time in my life. If you've ever lived on a real farm, you can never forget, no matter how young you were. There are smells that I can still conjure up in my memory all these decades later. I was a city kid, so everything was novel and exciting. Gravel roads were a fascinating concept to me. We had a step aunt and uncle who lived in a trailer. I had never known anyone who lived in one, and it just seemed so interesting to me. Believe it or not, through my entire childhood, into my teens, I knew almost no one who lived in a trailer. That's unusual for a Southern kid, but as I said, I was from the city.

My mother tells me that she removed us from the Mississippi relatives because my brother and I weren't being treated well, at least not as well as my baby sister, who was Frank's daughter, and the granddaughter of our Mississippi hosts. I don't remember being slighted while there, but I suppose it was possible.

As I recall, we called Frank "Dad" from the beginning. I remember meeting other kids who also called him Dad, after he and my mom split up. I don't know if they were his children, or his newest crop of stepchildren, but he did have a way of endearing kids, as I recall. The last time I saw him was many years later, at my sister's funeral. He introduced my brother and me as "my boys", which really surprised me. My brother and I each took one of his arms and helped him approach the casket. He was devastated at losing the same daughter twice. With the thin ties between him and us, we still felt some kind of bond.

My biological father was there that day too. We hadn't seen him in years. When you're sixteen, a sibling's funeral is surreal enough without having all three of your fathers together for the first time. You could have picked emotions out of a hat that day. Any one would do.

Frank was abusive to my mother. At least, she tells me that he was. The abuse would have taken place outside of my presence, since I'm sure I would have remembered witnessing it. But they stayed married for at least a few years, and bought my grandparents house when they moved out. They took over the payments and nearly caused a foreclosure, according to my step grandfather. Mom was really still a kid, but Frank knew better.

I can't help but wonder how many other step children Frank has had over the years, and what experiences they recall.

That's enough. I really need a cup of coffee.

another hasty insight by Jeff on 2/1/2002