Wolfe Stew

     So, I can’t really talk about my grandpa on my mother’s side until I talk about my dad. He is a good guy, and I can’t really explain how good, because of all the complexities that have happened.      When I was growing up my dad was super sweet to me. He was everything to me. I looked up to him, literally and figuratively. One reason I became a teacher is because of him, probably the biggest reason. My dad was a vice principal at a juvenile facility. Yes, the one where if the kids ran off, they sent dogs out to help find them. I was taken to work sometimes. I watched these older kids say “Hi Mr. Wolfe.” And I heard respect and honor toward him. He always knew how to talk to tough kids.      I knew he loved me and did not want to punish me, so I grew up a little spoiled… okay a lot. I would ‘run away’ and he would come try to find me outside, I never ran far. My mom on the other hand would give me a clear bag with flowers o

                  My grandma on my father’s side was just as amazing as my mother’s side.  She lived in that same town that my grandpa did, the one like Mayberry.  Apparently, they met at a hatchery.  Grandma Wolfe was beautiful and petite, she was French.  Her line is where I get my green eyes from.  Yeah, I thought it would be from the Irish side too, but nope, they are from the French line.  I could always tell they loved each other a lot.  We got to see them when I was little, up until my parents divorced.                 I remember quite a bit really.  She would cook amazing country meals with all kinds of starchy food.  We would always eat butter bread with jelly on it for our dinners.  It was always quiet and comfortable there.  We were only allowed to watch tv, maybe for an hour after dinner.  Sometimes we would just draw or read, depending on the day.  She always tucked us in, and always, always gave us hugs and kisses.                 Grandma was a sweet soul, and my grandfat

My grandmother, on my mother’s side, was a Saint.  Not that my grandmother on my father’s side wasn’t awesome as well, but this story is about Grandma Weber.  We will talk about Grandma Wolfe later on.  Grandma Weber was so tied to God, it is almost unbelievable.  She had joy that filled her cup and overflowed it into other people’s lives.  I remember when we first moved to town, we would go to church with my grandmother, but we got bored with it pretty fast.  None of us really felt what she did.  We were kinda wrapped up in our own sins, and we enjoyed them.  I feel like we looked at her like she was crazy.  We would go over to their house and my brother and I would compete with sitting on the couch next to grandma first.  She would sit next to us and rub our back, it was soo comforting.  My grandfather was a tough man to deal with.  I feel it took her amazing faith to deal with him on a daily basis.  My grandmother was always there for us, even when he wasn’t.  One memory is of how s

                  I was spoiled.  Not like a little bit either.  I know it was my dad that kept me from being punished.  He was a good guy and cared a lot.  But, it spoiled me.  I remember so well from just a few events.                 The first event was actually two events.  They have to do with each other.  I would shout that I was running away to my parents.  My father would be there and I would run out the door and hide behind a tree.  He would come running out and find me and bring me back.  My mom, when she was there, would get a bag, pack it, and set me out on the porch.  I wouldn’t run away, because she would pack the ugliest bag available.  Well, and of course, I never really wanted to leave, I just wanted someone to care enough to catch me.                 My mother spanked me with the wooden spoon, once my dad was out of the picture. I realized soon after how spoiled I had been.  But, when I think about it, that spoon caused some fear too.  I don’t know if I could have

               I have always been looking for someone that can replace the father I lost.  I knew it couldn’t be Randy, he was the guy my mother ended up with after the divorce.  He was a jerk.  At least, I felt he was because deep in my heart I knew he had stolen my family.  Destroyed it!  He was a bartender from one of the places my mom worked at when I was young.  It just happened too fast.  I felt it in my bones.  I hated him.  Another theme in my life, anger.                I was so angry and fearful.  I would have nightmares about my stepfather, and I could never fight back.  It was like I was drowning, and my arms were pinned to my sides.  I would wake up with my jaw clenched so tight I would have to work the muscles out to loosen them.  I never really gave Randy a chance.  I never would.  And, possibly, I made it harder for him to be that part of our family.  But there is more to the story than just that.  I don’t really remember a ton of it, but what I do remember is strongl

                 I didn’t have many friends when I was growing up.  Attachment wasn’t a thing I trusted.  My Dad and Mom split up when I was 8, and I ended up having to go to a public school not long after.  I had some friends in Calvary Christian, they were like family.  Mrs. Blamb was like a mother to me.  I remember the security I felt in that place.  I remember the Christian flag that meant a lot to me, with its pure white dove.  I remembered the Lord’s prayer, at least part of it.  I remembered them because they were given to me by God.  I had a perilous path to follow, and he equipped me with faith that would never leave me, though I would turn my face from it through anger and fear.                  So, all I had was my brother really.  I loved him like the most precious person, probably because we needed each other.  I probably needed him more than he needed me.  I remember pulling the little red wagon with him in it, all around Sherwood, Ohio.  We even entered the parade, wh

                    I am the Divorced Son.  I was born in the early 70s, to a man and woman who probably should never have gotten together.  Hence, why I know God was involved.  I was a little, old man, baby.  My mother was a diabetic, which probably has to do with why I was small and a preemie.  I was born into the world with a vision defect.  My eye muscles would pull so hard I would be cross-eyed.  They fixed this when I was 2, and I still remember being in the hospital with the plastic eyepatches over my eyes.  They say you shouldn’t remember things from when you were two.                 There are many things that happened in my life that guided me toward God.  First, and foremost, I went to a Christian school.  This is odd to me, because neither of my parents seem overly religious.  They act like they are the center of everything that happens, and it pains me to feel this way about them.  Never-the-less, Calvary Christian school had a profound and lasting effect on me.  I love