The week Mark and I got married was in the midst of a
humidity tidal wave. The evening before
the temperatures had reached into the 90’s and we were grateful that the high
temperature the day of our wedding was only supposed to reach 88 degrees.
Second weddings are not typical weddings. We held a party over an entire weekend, to
accommodate four families, and friends from many walks of life. We had hired a
photographer to capture the formal shots, and relied upon the good intentions
of our friends to do the rest. Ironically, the only photos that remain from
that day are those of the photographer.
He captured Davis and Mark in this photo, as they were
putting on their flowers. They were in a back room of the church. I can’t even
say for certain where I was, so caught up in the moment. Before he left the house, Davis had muttered,
“This is the most dressed up I’ve ever been.”
And it would last that way for years.
As we were in the midst of raising three teenage girls, the
relationship between Mark and Davis was not always apparent. No one worked at,
as we were busy working at “all of it.”
When it came time for Davis to enter high school, he was
given the option to look at Moeller.
Mark had graduated from Moeller, as had his two brothers. There was no legacy conversation, but Mark
sat Davis down, and relayed to him what he thought the benefits were, at least
from his viewpoint which was by then, how shall I say, old.
At any rate, that conversation was the only talk the two had
about Davis attending Moeller. Davis
never said another word about his intentions, until the time arrived for a
decision. Some of this may have been due to teasing at his public school based
on his decision, some due to the fact he had already made up his mind, and
would tell us in his time.
He chose Moeller. And I was always grateful that Mark had
not influenced him, or the outcome. Davis would succeed and fail at many
endeavors, but would only do so, by his own choosing, and not some legacy he
thought he had to fulfill.
Davis graduated, only weeks ago. From Moeller. The two, over
the course of four years time, shared many stories about teachers, history of
the school, history of the school sports programs. But Davis made his own way there, in no small
part, because Mark allowed for that to happen. Davis never had to be anyone’s son,
though he enjoyed being Cheryl’s brother, with the French teacher.
We walked the two short blocks to the donut shop. I chose to stay outside with the dog. The line was long, and occasionally, I peeked
inside to watch the two of the them, Davis now somewhat towering over his
stepfather. They were eagerly pointing
at various donuts, the likes of which can only be imagined, or paralleled to
VooDoo donuts.
The two years alone with Davis, without the girls in the home, I was grateful to
have witnessed many father-son moments transpiring between Mark and Davis. I
still crack up, when Davis calls him, “MM” because no other name seemed quite
right at the time. And none still does. And I am often the target of their
teasing, which I am quite comfortable in taking, when I know it is creating a
bond between them. And while Davis still
has a long way to go in adopting ND football, though Mark is coming along quite
nicely as a Duck, the two of them still count down the days to the beginning of
college football season, and the arrival of a certain someone’s rants about ND.
I have only gratitude that Mark never treated Davis any
different than he treated his birth daughters. Mark had been parenting many
years before I came on the scene as parent, and I am still learning from him,
how to open up a heart.
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