Step Dad's Matter!

I was about two years old when my mother married my step father "Spider." He was a long haired, jean jacket, leather and jewelry wearing man who hung with the bikers in Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada. Hailing from the little town of Salmon Arm, British Columbia, his pops "Grand-Father" still owns Walper Lumber to this day. My Dad was covered in home made prison tattoos of lions, spiders, and that planters peanut guy. One time before he died, he let me give him a prison tattoo with turquoise pelican ink, and a tooth brush with a needle stuck in it! I gave him a funky little spider, and a girly print of the name "barb" right on his chest. Even though he and my mom were separated at that point, they still hung out. It was heart warming when I asked him, "are you sure?" To having the name on his chest. He said "Yeah, she is my best friend." Her favourite colour is green, and they would drink together and have coffee and smokes every day.

He loved Alice Cooper, and bands like The Doors, or Pink Floyd. Once a month on pay day he would get "krunk" (or white guy wasted) on old Milwaukee beer, (the cheap stuff with the pin up girls on the can) then he would throw on his faves like: Nirvana- "Lake of Fire", and Guns N Roses- "Novembers Rain," and "Sweet Child of Mine". He would tell me to make sure on his funeral to play Lake of Fire for his mother! It was a laughable request, even though I did not expect him to go so soon. My old man would crank his retro speakers that were bigger than me to the second notch on the metal nob and I would be covering my ears as if my life depended on it. It still surprises me to this day how that sound system had the ability to go all the way up to 10!

Pops would usually be watching Spike network for men while munching out on seasoned peanuts, beef jerky, or Old Dutch twin pack potato chips. If I was lucky, I could watch him eat the chips like a little puppy, and sheepishly ask him "Dad?... Can I please have a chip?" At that point he would smile and give me literally, one chip! I learned you have to be specific and ask for exactly what you want. Of course, my dad would throw me the other pack to share with my little brother, and it was always an exciting moment to sit and eat potato chips on the floor beside the couch next to my dad, watching Jean Claude Vandamme do the splits, or watch Chuck Norris karate chop a guy, or watch Bruce Lee punch through a guys chest or Watch G I Jane, and understand why Will smacked Chris, and why Jada doesn't deserve a knight. And you expect to see a girl brawl like Lolita vs Trish Stratus! Or Chyna jumps in for ra dangerous 3 way! You know, something cool like that!

As a smaller child I was a tiny little thing. My dad would watch WWF wrestling with me. We loved the undertaker, Macho Man Randy Savage, Hulk Hogan, Hack Saw Jim Dougan, Rick Flare, and of course-The Hart's Brothers. When my dad would wrestle with me I would whine because he wore that original Speedstick for Men, and the scent would get in my nostrils when I was being easily pinned and pretzeled. My dad would tell me that if I would continue to be a cry baby, wimp, he was not going to play with me any more. I had to learn to toughen up, and try harder.

My dad always expected things done right, and fast. He was a janitor by profession at night, and a pot dealer as a side hustler extraordinaire. He worked at LilyDale cleaning up after the chicken meat, at Coopers Grocery store, and at a Goodwill thrift shop in Kamloops. B.C. Sometimes he would bring me to work to get it done quicker. He would let me use the buffer and big mops. I would clean the staff rooms and the washrooms and by the time I was done that he would almost be done cleaning the floors. My dad would get me to clean literally everything at home but the laundry. My little brother was a slow mo so with Asperger's and ADHD so all he had to do was hand dry the dishes and put them away. One day my dad came and inspected the job, and my big little bro put the dishes in the cupboards still wet! My Irish-German furher made me rewash all the dishes so he could re-dry and put them away properly! I learned it was better to do things right and oversee the work to the end proper the first time. I became a highly efficient, competent person, able to work with the handicapped. Who knows how to use "elbow grease."

SpiderDad always had 4 packs of Export A Green cigarettes which he would fold up on his shoulder, and chain smoke everywhere he went. As a small child I remember watering plants which identified as "tomato's", and I do not recall them ever growing tomato's. One time I asked my dad for money to get a Slurpee from 7'Eleven and he told me nope, I'm broke. And, then he came out with 4 packs of cigarettes for him and 2 for my mother! That's when I learned sometimes in life, "I don't have any money" means, I don't have any money for you!

But, my dad would give my brother and me each two dollars a day to go to the local swimming pool. He had a step daughter from his first marriage, and a real daughter that was 8, and the other 4 years older than me. I never had any other sisters from my mother and I looked up to her and thought of her as my real sister. She was allowed to do whatever she wanted at her house and was a wild child brat. She(The biological) was allowed to wear bikinis and belly tops. My strict dad (My Step Dad) would not let me wear little swim suits! At the time I thought it was oppressive, and not fair. Now, I am grateful and understand that little girls with big girl bodies should be careful how they dress in public.

I was super athletic because as a small girl my dad put me in Karate to be like Chuck Norris and the other action figures I watched on television all the time. I wanted to be a figure skater after Elvis Stoyko and Christi Yamagishi, or a gymnastics star because I was limber and super talented early in life. But, karate was 3o bucks a month and the price was right. I went to Jim Doan's First Choice Karate in Kamloops British Columbia around age 8, and became a confident Power Ranger with real life Kung-Fu Grip, and the Eye-of-the-Tiger too! So by the time I was 13 I was very lean and strong. I could take down a full grown man because I had to be paired with Billy the 18 year old boy over 6 ft tall and 200 pounds because no one else could hold the bag for me. So, I felt that my dad was over reacting with the bikini rules because my cocky self felt I could whoop arse, and I wish some one would try something. I could score a goal from half court, I had pride and confidence.

The wisdom of a Father is so important, and useful. Without my dad who knows where I would be and what danger I would have ran full speed ahead into? My mom separated from my dad around age 13 when they had been busted in an affair. My mom was a travelling sales person with ambitions and fantasy dreams. My dad was a down to earth bad guy who decided to be good for the family sake. But when he found out of the affair we can say the shizzer got real. My mom fled to Ontario with my brother and I where life became hard and lawless without the guidance of a good father, and stability of the routines of school, friends, sports, karate, and Sunday school things.

After a long youth I came back out West to live with my dad, and my mom and brother eventually followed. My Dad was very sickly when I got back there. He was on huge doses of Methadone, morphine patches, a whole whack of pills that I have no idea what they were for, and still smoking heavily.

When he was young he tried to commit suicide and ran a sports car super fast into a power pole. The only thing that saved him was NOT having a seatbelt on. He got thrown out the window and messed up but not destroyed. God must have been sparing him to be my guardian and hero. He had a metal plate in his leg, and he was walking with a cane. He had one of those canes which had a hidden sword inside it shaped like a wizard staff with black tape wrapped around it. He had 2 triple bypass surgeries. When he was young he smoked, drank, ate a tonne of Burger King and did a lot of cocaine so he had a heart attack and ended up with 40 percent of a heart.

When I came back he had next to no appetite. He was thinning in his long, golden, lions mane locks were limp and as weightless as his frail body. By seeing us back around had brought him back to life like a house plant that was left while you went away on vacation in the dark, my dad started changing. He started eating, he quit all his meds and cigarettes by substituting weed and life became great.

Eventually, the fun came to an end as life cycles repeated. My mother said she had to go back to Ontario to help take care of Oma and Papa. Soon after I left my baby daddy and the only place I could go was with my mom. Little to my knowledge my mom served him with divorce papers at the same time we learned she was getting engaged and married to a man she met who was good friends with my grandparents, and that she met at church. But, I was already there and figured my dad would be ok with my narcissistic step sister and her 2 children. I was at hair school when my sister told me Dad was gone. I later found out he tried to hang himself on a peach tree in the back yard where he rented. The neighbour lady upstairs seen him out her window and got him to the hospital. My sister decided to pull the plug when he was on life support. They told her he was dead for 2 minutes and if he continues to live he COULD possibly be brain dead, so the woman decided to pull his life support and let him die. Which still hurts to this day years later. My sister did not grow up with him. He was taking care of my mother and my brother and me. I would've done anything to keep him alive. I would not listen to the doctors what ifs and given him another kick at the can. But I was not there. I lost my dad because of mental health issues. Depression. Suicide. Pain.

My dad was called Spider because he was small, fast, deadly, and a kick boxer. He use to collect black widow spiders as pets. He would beat up any man who tried or even thought about harming me or another woman. He would beat up random guys on the street for abusing their women, and beat up guys who harmed children. My Dad was my hero, and my back bone which helped make me who I am today. He taught me things like "do unto others what you would have them do unto you", to not trust someone as far as you can throw them, that if someone is staring at you to wink at them or blow them a kiss... He taught me humour when he and I would yell "you dropped your pocket!" at people while driving by. He taught me to gamble, when he bet me 5 dollars on an arm wrestle, and I still don't know if he let me win to give me 5 dollars, or if I actually won? He brought me to my karate classes so I could dominate my entire city and become first in Run Jump Throw, and and all out champion. He taught me to go back to bed even when I am scared, and to turn off the lights because power is worth money I would rather get to go swimming or get a Slurpee.

My dad lives on because I named my first son with my husband after him "Bernard Kent-Vincient- That's right, my spiderman dad's super name was Bernard Kent. I wanted to write this to you Super men all out there reading now, or to be reading later-to know that Step Dad's Matter!

My mom was a struggling young mother in the big world alone. She had an abusive up bringing to say the least. My real father was a Yakuza immigrant in the 80's in Calgary Alberta named Hong-or Sonny Nyugen. I do not know him. He does not know of me. If any of you know him, let him know he owes me 18 years back pay for child support, plus pain and suffering. My mom must have felt safe with my dad from my real dad? Who knows? But who knows where I would be if my step dad didn't come into my life.

Although I am half Asian, I never knew who I was or where I came from. I didn't know why I liked the things I likes or who I looked like either. My mom is a strawberry ginger blonde with blue eyes and freckles...My dad taught me about martial arts and asian culture in the movies. He brought music into my life. He taught me street smarts and the power of loyalty and faithfulness. He taught me to be strong and to not fear. He encouraged me to be a crusader and defend the weak and help the slow. He made sure I ate a LOT of ground beef and covered up, and I am sure I will not be getting skin cancer when I am old. He taught me more than I can write.

I want you step fathers, and fathers or men in general, that you are important. You all do matter. Even as a young girl my identity was always important. I wanted to know who I came from to know where I should be going. You want to be like your dad, or, you want to be the opposite of him sometimes! Girls look for a man who is like her daddy.

My husband now is a long haired indigenous American from Texas USA. He also likes to wear leather and boots, and his long mane is super important to him. He is a step father to my children from my failed youth life too.

To me a man protects the woman from being taken advantage of by pervy pool type guys. He protects the children from the same dangers that lurk for us all. To me, Dad was the best driver. He could fix anything. He had an old tool for everything. He had the first aid kit. He could repair the car too! He knew how to make money even if it was selling drugs or beating people up.

Guys, you teach the people of the world (little boys and girls) how to dominate pets and people. You teach us how to tighten up the lip and make fists. You teach us how to drive.(maybe that's why there are so many shikkakka drivers today-who weren't taught by their papa's how to shift?). Father's teach us how to not "hit like a girl" and make us aware that little girls don't leave the house naked! Guys, you teach us that though there are bad guys in the world-none are badder than you! Dads, you teach us that if a real man loves you he will share his snacks. I have come to learn that fathers are needed to take women and children out of an addictive, painful, broken life cycle.

Now, I have been blessed to have a new dad. He is a powerful Guyanese man from the jungle whose name is "G." An immigrant in his youth to Hamilton Ontario Canada-of all places. He grew up in a racist time in Canada where there were not many "Indian" ethnic peoples, and all of the sudden my brown brothers started diversifying Canada from the white, hippie, hillbilly, biker, bro, blue collared white dudes from farms, factories, and fabulous Toronto and Montreal regions...

Long story a bit shorter, he ended up with a criminal record. Down the road he got saved and started serving in the community doing jobs and working. My dad is always working. He is always hustling and building, drafting, making things. He is a genius. He remembers things vividly, is a great speaker, eyes people up to a T, and he has a hilarious sarcastic witty comical self. He can create comics of the darkest humoristic sides of a person. He can sketch people like a detective doing a suspect sketch accurate. My new dad helped my mom, my grandparents, my autistic brother who fell between the cracks from quacks and misdiagnosis and ignorance of the so called professionals, and bad parenting from an abused ex addicted mother. He helped encourage my mom to quit smoking. He brought her along in his work hustling and building. My dad has a quick wit, and cuts to the heart of any issue. He does not appreciate to waste time, resources, and peace with certain people in specific places likely sent by the Devil. He has a good heart too. He will do a friends deck no charge, and he is the guy the pastor calls when the church toilet is plugged or an issue on the roof. He is always handing out 20s to people like Oprah.

So, you guys have no idea how important, and needed you all are. Even socially accepted failures of community families bring some important lessons, traits, and abilities to a child's life-even if they are not blood born daughters or sons.

My family would be in cycles of pain and dysfunction and addiction today if I did not have a great husband to keep me, protect my children, my dad G, to keep mentoring and coaching my autistic brother, and keeping my mom from going wild and living in fantasy island reality... Or, my first step dad-who left his life (Like they all did) to pick up the cross and fight, struggle, work to the death for what he considers his. And we "kids" consider ourselves honoured to have a dad who loves us, lets us use his name, teaches us the traits, skills, abilities, personalities of all the fathers before him...

You teach us what is important, and to get to the point. You teach us chin down, fists up, and that eggs on a windshield in October is a ancient-West coast-medieval prairie technique to use for Trick or Treating-And in that event, that it is good to take calculated risks, and even perfecting the methods!

Moms do not let you prank your neighbours to get revenge with class and style. Moms can not teach you the straight shooting talking, hard line spirit to cut to the heart of the real matter in a timely manner. To look people in the eyes, and to hand shake with power. That if you are a whiner, complainer, cry-baby-then no one is going to like you regardless of how little, cute, and awesome you think you are. Society needs to be told the one-two, in your face, punch truth! If there are good strong mothers, it was handed down from a good father background. Society needs to remember that truth does hurt, but it is what keeps things honest and that is worth life to protect and live for.

The Nerd says, "It takes a village to raise a child"...and the "Nerd" is likely a femme. Because it takes one good man with a good woman to raise it. One house by one. If you raise your own like the best of your own, then they can go out into the world and multiply that family name. You can be fruitful and prosper with a good name. You add value and worth, and style to the world in your ages and time because of the good fathers.

Even foster, adoptive fathers, or elder brothers who had to take on the battle of raising a good person in a time like this. To raise a person who can survive and pass it on. To not fumble. To get hit hard, and go down, but to get back up again.

It is a family name that a father gives to his child and that child will perfect it, style it, and pass it on ensuring the survival. Even if your family name, or house are gangsters. It is not as much about the blood, as it is the spirit of the men in that line of men. The girls will go out to hunt down a man like you. perhaps like your father too!

Men teach us that the only way a man can keep going forward is with a team pushing to the goal prize in life to not die-A man must live. My Dad wanted to die. He killed himself. It still sucks to this day. His dad was dead to him. He didn't pass on his fathers name. But I gave his real name to my son and he lives on.

I honour my Fathers. Even my Asian mafia father whoever he is...(I know he likely has the money to pay up some kinda support).Even him who I use to hate for good reasons, deserves respect for keeping the ball of the household rolling. He didn't have to be in my life for me to do and be like him without ever meeting him, because it is in every male and female to continue together until the end. That takes a strong man to lead the house hold to a good name and story. We love all step dads equally. Even when things are rough the tough get going.

I am sorry to have wrote you so much, but I am speaking from the heart of one of the most important, soul touching matter is in society, and to me personally.

We need good fathers wherever you are. You are important. Masculinity is worth preserving and passing on. I love my step dad as if they were my own. I feel special to have a dad even though I have another new one which is not my own. I choose to honour my fathers instead of hate them for pains and problems which have been inherited from the up links to the household tree and name (We all have a bastard in the bush). Even big brothers, you help us too.

I don't wanna live in a girly world. I want to be the kind of woman who wants the best version of the fathers before her. And I thank you for taking care of what you consider is yours. A guy said one time-"what you live for you will die for" and Bless the guys who have something worth dying for as their reason for living. If it weren't for a dad, I would never know the beauty of getting hit with a chair off the top ropes, or how good it feels to tell someone who deserves it to hut up. Or to love something so much you will fight about it.