The year was 1987. At least that was the year I remember, because that was the actual year my mom remarried. My dad wouldn't repeat the deed for another year, so for now, we'll stick to 1987. We were living at Pines West apartments when I remember getting the news that the marriage was actually going to happen, but I felt very odd thinking I barely knew the guy, let alone wondering how well my mom could have actually known him. As it turns out, it was pretty well because he was her boss at the company they both worked for. I had only really met him a few times, but he began coming over more and more often and really trying to integrate himself (more like acclimate) into our lives. His name was Bill McGraw and he was to become my step dad. Well, until his passing in 2005. But we'll hit on that later, too.
Oddly, the one major time I remember Bill really showing his cool side -really kind of the opposite of how I can only imagine how my dad would have handled the same situation- while we lived at Pines West is kind of a funny story. You see, Chad, Kerry (you remember them, right?) and I had been invited to stay the night over at Chad's dad's house, whom I'd only ever met maybe twice in five years. We thought it'd be fun to hang out, watch movies, and let his dad buy us pizza. So we went over there and had a really good time. Well, until we found out that Chad's dad was a bit of a (ahem) 'Porn Movie Afficionado'. Well, we wanted a big slice of that action since Chad and I had never really seen much in the way of porn on film, just layouts in magazines. So after we figured Chad's dad had gone to sleep, he cued up the movie and we sat awestruck as hairy, wet majesty played out before us. Sadly, we just weren't fast enough to stop it when we heard footsteps approaching the family room where we were camping out. He caught us red handed and laid into Chad pretty good. He only mildly scolded us, because, as he said, we weren't his kids, but he was angry and ashamed. So, the next day after he dropped us off back at our homes, we were instructed to make sure we told our parents what had happened. So, rather than hide it (a skill I wouldn't perfect till years later), I went straight inside, and burst into tears as I regaled the whole sordid tale to my mom and Bill. After a moment of silence, Bill looked at me and asked, "Well? Was it any good?" That was the extent of my troubles with that issue. How cool was that? Yeah. We had a lot of those moments once they were married and we'd moved. Oh, yeah. The move...
We found out a month or so after the preceding incident that my mom had found an actual house for us. Unfortunately, the house was 25 minutes away in a town called Paw Paw. You see, as 'worldly' as I might have been in my own neighborhood and the surrounding few miles, I wasn't even aware that there was a town called Paw Paw. Seriously. I mean who names a town that? Portage was a city for the upwardly mobile, the Yuppies of society, the people who didn't work farms or own moonshine stills. But Paw Paw on the other hand... well, that town was one major surprise coupled with a nasty taste of disappointment. Soon, my mom and Bill and the three of us kids took a road trip (the back way from Portage I would eventually grow to know like the back of my hand) to Paw Paw to see where the house was and how it looked. Now, if you've never been on a back roads trip from Portage to Paw Paw, you pass through a few towns (Kalamazoo, Oshtemo, and Mattawan) before you even get to Paw Paw, and the scenery just gets bleaker and bleaker the further from advanced civilization you get. And I say that in the kindest possible way. We arrived in Paw Paw... deep in Paw Paw, as it turned out, and found our to-be house on a long road with maybe five neighbors. Where I was used to, a mile stretch of road netted you fifteen or twenty neighbors, and a somewhat close-knit feeling of safety. This house looked like it was lifted from 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre'. As it turned out, we were meeting the Realtor there to have look around and pick out which rooms we'd like to have. It was a very old farmhouse, something like 80 years or so, and had a big barn in the back and a smaller chicken house on the other side of the sprawling, overgrown yard. Behind us, spreading a few acres or so, was a field of winter wheat that was apparently ours, too. It was so incredibly bizarre seeing a house like this off of a dirt road with a rutted driveway where the paint was peeling from the siding and the surreal din of insects permeated the air. It was a building out of time... a time that shifted in our heads so uncomfortably that you could almost feel the tension of the twisting springs. But I had no say... this was where we were moving. And so we divvied up the bedrooms, took another look around as we gingerly paced the rickety, squeaky floors, and just prayed that the place wasn't riddled with angry poltergeists. The time had come to really make moving plans, and to pack. I was really going to miss Portage.
Next: The Move and The Wedding, or: Tales of a Terrible Summer
Oddly, the one major time I remember Bill really showing his cool side -really kind of the opposite of how I can only imagine how my dad would have handled the same situation- while we lived at Pines West is kind of a funny story. You see, Chad, Kerry (you remember them, right?) and I had been invited to stay the night over at Chad's dad's house, whom I'd only ever met maybe twice in five years. We thought it'd be fun to hang out, watch movies, and let his dad buy us pizza. So we went over there and had a really good time. Well, until we found out that Chad's dad was a bit of a (ahem) 'Porn Movie Afficionado'. Well, we wanted a big slice of that action since Chad and I had never really seen much in the way of porn on film, just layouts in magazines. So after we figured Chad's dad had gone to sleep, he cued up the movie and we sat awestruck as hairy, wet majesty played out before us. Sadly, we just weren't fast enough to stop it when we heard footsteps approaching the family room where we were camping out. He caught us red handed and laid into Chad pretty good. He only mildly scolded us, because, as he said, we weren't his kids, but he was angry and ashamed. So, the next day after he dropped us off back at our homes, we were instructed to make sure we told our parents what had happened. So, rather than hide it (a skill I wouldn't perfect till years later), I went straight inside, and burst into tears as I regaled the whole sordid tale to my mom and Bill. After a moment of silence, Bill looked at me and asked, "Well? Was it any good?" That was the extent of my troubles with that issue. How cool was that? Yeah. We had a lot of those moments once they were married and we'd moved. Oh, yeah. The move...
We found out a month or so after the preceding incident that my mom had found an actual house for us. Unfortunately, the house was 25 minutes away in a town called Paw Paw. You see, as 'worldly' as I might have been in my own neighborhood and the surrounding few miles, I wasn't even aware that there was a town called Paw Paw. Seriously. I mean who names a town that? Portage was a city for the upwardly mobile, the Yuppies of society, the people who didn't work farms or own moonshine stills. But Paw Paw on the other hand... well, that town was one major surprise coupled with a nasty taste of disappointment. Soon, my mom and Bill and the three of us kids took a road trip (the back way from Portage I would eventually grow to know like the back of my hand) to Paw Paw to see where the house was and how it looked. Now, if you've never been on a back roads trip from Portage to Paw Paw, you pass through a few towns (Kalamazoo, Oshtemo, and Mattawan) before you even get to Paw Paw, and the scenery just gets bleaker and bleaker the further from advanced civilization you get. And I say that in the kindest possible way. We arrived in Paw Paw... deep in Paw Paw, as it turned out, and found our to-be house on a long road with maybe five neighbors. Where I was used to, a mile stretch of road netted you fifteen or twenty neighbors, and a somewhat close-knit feeling of safety. This house looked like it was lifted from 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre'. As it turned out, we were meeting the Realtor there to have look around and pick out which rooms we'd like to have. It was a very old farmhouse, something like 80 years or so, and had a big barn in the back and a smaller chicken house on the other side of the sprawling, overgrown yard. Behind us, spreading a few acres or so, was a field of winter wheat that was apparently ours, too. It was so incredibly bizarre seeing a house like this off of a dirt road with a rutted driveway where the paint was peeling from the siding and the surreal din of insects permeated the air. It was a building out of time... a time that shifted in our heads so uncomfortably that you could almost feel the tension of the twisting springs. But I had no say... this was where we were moving. And so we divvied up the bedrooms, took another look around as we gingerly paced the rickety, squeaky floors, and just prayed that the place wasn't riddled with angry poltergeists. The time had come to really make moving plans, and to pack. I was really going to miss Portage.
Next: The Move and The Wedding, or: Tales of a Terrible Summer
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