punkwalrus (punkwalrus) wrote,

Mr. H.

When I was in 5th grade, there was this kid called Peter who was in 4th. I know at least two of my casual readers know him. No, not , the other guy with red hair. Anyway, our friendship was a little off and on, here and there. Pete was in scouts with me, and I got to know his dad. This story is not really that unusual, I have many like this. But this took a sudden turn in January of 1987.

Pete's dad, which we'll call Mr. H, showed up on a day that was the turning point of my whole life. In fact, he really insisted on showing up merely hours after my mother was pronounced dead on the scene. I recall the police asking me, "This guy is REAL insistent about seeing you... do you even know him?" See, TONS of neighbors showed up, and were wandering around my house and even in my house like a museum, and this pissed off the investigating Sergeant so much, he got like 3-4 cops to keep people away. Sadly, I did turn him away, but I was puzzled why he was more insistent than others.

Later on, Mr. H. kept in touch. Most of my McLean friends turned their backs on me. A few, like those reading my blog, did not. I don't miss those that left, because it made those that stayed even more valued. Mr. H. helped me when I was shit poor. He got me clothes that helped me land a job. He gave me some money for food. He gave me hope, advice, and acted like more of a parent than my father ever did. I don't think I would have made it as well as I have without some adult authority figure helping me out. He didn't rule over me, or call every day. We just met every few months, and gave me advice I asked for.

To those of you who have parents, this may seem normal. But you see, I never had anyone to do this with growing up.

We still have dinner from time to time. Tonight is one of those times. We talk about a lot of stuff. Some of it about his kids, some about my life, and I feel like I have someone to say, "Hey, things are going okay."
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