Have you ever wondered why I take the time to care about your life ? Here is a true story about my step father. JOE Joe was my stepfather, a macho captain on the New York City Police Corrections Department. He came in to my life when I was just about to reach my teens. Joe was a harsh disciplinarian who came from the old school. He believed in what I considered to be strange punishments. When we would disobey him or mom, my brother and I were often told to do push-ups or sit-ups. When Joe first came to live with us, I could barely do one real push-up; but when he left our house, I could do well over 100 in one sitting. This was a testament on how well behaved I was. The penalty for bringing home a bad report card was a good old fashioned crew cut. Even now, I try to keep my hair short just because I grew up with it that way. I was not known for my outstanding grades. Then, there were the Joe Rodriguez restrictions: Go to your room and sit on the bed, no reading, no sleeping, and no talking. You just sat there until you were taken off, and don’t forget the good old touch your toes beating. I grew to hate Joe; after all, he was not my father. Who was he to treat me this way? All the time I knew him, I never liked him. He was just my mother’s husband who was always telling me what to do, that was all, until the day he died. When I got older and had children of my own, I would often think of Joe and the things he taught me. He believed in standing up for what you believe in, saying what you feel, and putting the responsibility where it belongs. He said, “If you’re not part of the solution, then you’re part of the problem if, in your complacency, you allow the problem to get bigger while you stand and watch it growing.” He showed me that I am not only responsible for myself, but that I am also responsible for the way I raise my children. I was not his child; yet he cared enough to teach me of life. He prepared me for it. Life is not just some game or adventure you can be involved in. Life is here; it is real; and contrary to popular belief, it’s not here to stay. He cared enough to take the time that was necessary to have a lasting effect on my life. I had never given in to the consideration that he took on the responsibility of love. I realized that I loved him and had to thank him for the things he showed me, but I put it away as something not important and to be put off until later Then one day my mother told me that Joe had committed suicide in New York City. I sometimes wonder if there was a chance that he killed himself because he thought no one loved him. I guess I will never know . . . . I wish I had told him that I loved him. Jerry Figueroa.. Now hurry, go tell someone you love them.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Jun 2013 21:01:54 +0000
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