STEPDAD

I was born in a little town called Enterprise, Oregon. This was mostly a logging community then, and my father was in the logging business. My mother had waited several years for a child to arrive in their home, so I know that I was very special. When I was just 15 months old

the bad news came to our household. My father had been killed when a logging speeder, that ran on the railroad tracks, had dropped some of its pipe which was in the process of being moved from one location to another. This caused the speeder to overturn and it landed on top of my Father.

My mother was born in France, and her father did not consider it important for girls to have an education. Her mother had died shortly after they came to the United States at the now famous Ellis Island in the early 1900's. Her father was very fond of his alcohol, and that seemed to be the most important thing in his life. My mother had to learn to stay home, cook and clean at a very early age. She only had a third grade education. I tell you all of this just so you see the gravity of a young woman, recently widowed with a child to care for, and no education to go out and find a paying job.

Mother soon found a logging camp where we could move and have a very small cabin to live in. To earn some money she decided she would take in washing and ironing because she knew how to do that very well. She would get up early in the morning and start the old gasoline engine- powered washing machine. You could hear it all over the camp. There was no sleeping in if you lived near us.

This is where she met a suitor for her hand in marriage. He courted her, and immediately began to show me favors. He was a baker in the cookhouse and used to take me up there and set me on the end of his work bench. While there, he would feed me the biggest, most delicious cream puffs anyone ever tasted. He began calling me cream puff, which lasted throughout his entire life.

After they were married they moved to Estacada, Oregon where they opened their first bakery. This is where we lived when my only brother, Ivan Jr. was born. I had a hard time calling him Daddy, and continued to call him by his given name. I resented that this man had moved into my mama's bed, which was where I had become used to sleeping. My mother said,"Margaret, if you keep calling Ivan by his name, what do you think your new little brother is going to call him?" That really did register with me, so I made the effort and was soon calling him daddy.

We had a good life, moving many times, but even during depression days always had food on the table. People always have to eat, so even in difficult times most people in the food business can find work.

I have to say, my step father was never referred to as "step", but he was always my Dad . And neither did he ever introduce me as a "step" daughter. I was his daughter and both of us were proud of that. No one could ever have had a better dad than I did growing up. I loved him very much, and was sure to tell him that before he died of cancer in 1964. He gave me a brother who I never refer to as a "step" brother either. He is my brother, and we have a close relationship to this day.

Cherish the families that you have, and the love will always come back to you in many ways.