The Coast-to-Coast adventure is gradually coming to an end. We’ve entered the third time zone and finally in the home stretch with only ten state licence plates yet to find. There have been limited issues, as we settle into Mother Marriott’s arms tonight. We’ve now covered the gambit of Marriott properties from Ritz-Carlton to Fairfield Inn & Suites. We did have a near-casualty, trying to dodge a semi’s shredded tire that left only a few removable black rubber marks on the newly restored Lexus sports-car body. Also, some disturbing news from both my son and my wife’s daughter ended the day.
A bottle of wine soothed my nerves. We started with an 18-pack, while most went along as gifts. Two Oregon wines went to my half/bio/from another mother-sister. I’m not sure which is the preferred term? Nonetheless, we shared some “throwed rolls” yesterday and talked about the man we have in common. I will never meet him, while she grew up with him. Apparently, he was a pretty tough father that raised five girls and a boy. His favorite saying was, “you can’t win with kids.” He was selfish, competitive, and ultimately took his own life. I would now describe him as the polar opposite of the man I got to call “dad” – the man who adopted me. They both did have explosive tempers, but I would choose the life I’ve led over what could have been.
My half-sister was raised in a small Indiana town, not too far from John Cougar Mellencamp’s Seymour. She remembered picking beans & blackberries in the family’s massive garden, playing croquet in the yard, billiards in the basement, and sitting down to meals for eight. Her dad was quite the games-man; good at just about any sport, including semi-pro shuffleboard in retirement. He built a nine-sided cabin next door to their home that eventually served as their residence and loved to hunt.
If he had married my birth mother instead of his wife of 60-years, this half-sister would not exist, and I would have lived a rural life of sports, hunting, and manly trades, instead of my country club upbringing. My father didn’t own any tools, couldn’t teach me sports because he was left-handed, and despised the outdoors, especially after living in a tent during the war. He did encourage me to enjoy sports, get an education, and work with my mind, not my hands. If circumstances had been different, I would be a completely different person.
I’m appreciative of the life I do live, especially now that I’m comfortably retired. I owe it all to my adopted parents, who raised me as their own and provided the resources for success. I’m also grateful for this man I never met who gave me life and for his family that is beginning to accept me as their brother. My half-sisters lost their only brother at an early age in a motorcycle accident. Although, I will never come close to replacing him, I was struck by a comment a friend made as we were eating our Lambert’s lunch yesterday: “I wish I could find a brother that I never knew I had.”