...popped one high to center field.

My stepfather Craig and I work together for the same contractor sometimes. Last week we were at a wire plant moving some heavy machinery. During the demolition phase I accidentally damaged a piece of equipment that was supposed to be salvaged. I was using the torch to burn some bolts that were anchoring a railing to the floor. The other guys were still on break but I figured I could handle the piece by myself. I was wrong. When the railing came loose it pivoted and got away from me, falling and landing face-down on an electrical control at the other end. The panel was dented in an important spot and I knew it'd be an issue. Craig came back and I told him what had happened. He said the same thing probably would've happened to him, there was no way to tell that the railing was so top-heavy. He was lying to make me feel better, and it worked. We shrugged it off and went back to our respective tasks. Later on I spotted him walking with the plant manager but didn't put two and two together; I was too busy dreading the next morning when I'd have to tell the boss about what happened.

I'm always the first employee on the job, but the next day I made sure to get there even earlier so I'd have time to explain the situation. Our boss sighed lightly and touched the damaged part of the machine. He said it wasn't the end of the world and that it may have still been functional. If not then the electrician would just have to replace it. The tour of the day's objectives continued as he led me through the factory and pointed out what he wanted done. I was relieved and knew I'd sleep better that night.

A few hours went by. The guy I was partnered up with was busting my balls about the previous day's failure. I told him that I had already told the boss about it and that he wasn't too upset. My partner stopped turning the wrenches and told me what Craig had been discussing with the plant manager when I saw him the day before. He had shown him the broken control and said that he had done it. "Man, he threw himself under the bus for me?" I asked. I felt even worse because the act was truly honorable in that he hadn't mentioned doing it. "Yeah, that's what fathers do," was my partner's response. He went back to work and let what he'd said sink in.

There has always been a small part of me that wants to deny my love for my stepfather, but it shrinks more and more as time goes on and we both come to understand our roles in each other's lives. No son likes to admit and accept that a man other than the one who sired him is sleeping with his mother, but Craig is much more than that. He's taken an active role in my life over the years and I know he's just as proud of me as my mother is. In a way I'm his second shot at fatherhood. He wasn't around for his two children often because he was still young and crazy when he had them and the marriage ended quickly. My kids will know him as Grandpa. I wish I could bring myself to call him Dad. Unfortunately, that title is taken by someone who doesn't deserve it. And if he were here right now he'd probably say he doesn't want it anyway. Or maybe he'd have his new mystery wife do the talking for him, the one who's a clown by trade. She's probably not even a good one, probably just a pathetic birthday clown who pulls quarters out of ears like that crazy uncle we all have. I don't think he could rope himself a prestigious employee of P.T. Barnum's beneficiary. He's just not that impressive. Runs in the family.

Sometimes I still wonder if that cheap blue swingset is still rusting in his back yard. When I was ten he told me he was going to sell it for some baseball gear. I never liked sports, but I appreciated his attempt at understanding what a son needs. None of that ever happened. Then he ditched me for Jesus. The rusted chains on those stupid swings are still pinching my hands somehow. My kids won't ever know that pain.