Not a lot of people know this, but my Popop was a kidnapper.

I didn’t hear this story from him. He was hauling a load through the deep south, I want to say Georgia, way before I was born. There was a teenage girl, a runaway, at a truck stop. He picked her up and took her back to Jersey. My grandparents housed and cared for her, but when the guys on the yard heard, they were right to be worried.

“Sonny, you took a minor across state lines! Do you know how much trouble you could be in?!”

Popop was the Teamsters’ Shop Steward, the go-between “the guys” and management, and he was good at it. They needed him, and if anyone came looking for that young woman, there is a chance that he could have been in real trouble. But Joseph had young daughters. The guys were right, but so was he. All he could say was:

“I couldn’t just leave her there like that.”

He had to have been thinking about his little girls at home when he saw her in that parking lot. My grandparents got her on her feet and found her a place. They were pen pals with her for a while. Last my grandmother heard she was getting married. All because some fat trucker just couldn’t leave her there like that.

And that was just how he was.

He had a way of making every little trip feel like the greatest adventure.

“Popop, where are we going?”

“Crazy! Wanna come?!”

“No! Popop! Where are we going?!”

“I told youse! Crazy! Wanna come?!”

He would dress up as Santa, and not just for our house.

He taught me that intelligence is admirable, despite his living in a realm where slick talk is looked upon with suspicion (as it generally should be). You don’t have to be an idiot to kick it with the boys on the yard (though it does help). That being said: character, integrity, and intelligence are completely unrelated… but strive for both.

In the face of any serious matter, never tell someone “You owe me one.” That is the realm of petty tyrants.

Look out for your dudes, stick up for your guys, and roll with the boys. Whether or not they repay you. It’s not about debts or making sure somebody knows they owe you. It’s a method of conducting oneself. To do the right thing because it is the right thing.

He taught me strength, but with warmth, without cruelty or malice. He was a tough guy, but I never feared him. It was not the numb callousness of stainless steel, but a steady comfort, like a golden light through dark forest.

He taught me how to love without fear, which can get a man in plenty of trouble, but it’s the only way I know. You can’t have bravery without risking a fair amount of foolishness. It’s a razor’s edge to walk, but I wouldn’t rather have it any other way. Thank you Popop.

I’ve known since I had some vague sense of my own existence that the most beautiful woman in the world could have walked into the room to ask for a dance, and he would politely decline. I’m sure he would make some joke about what my Grandmother would do to him, but the truth of the matter is that there was no force strong enough in this universe to shear him from his Lady.

He even held off his own death for her. He was very much tired of living, held together with paper clips and bubble gum, but she wasn’t ready for him to go, so he kept on trucking, even if it just meant playing solitaire in his underwear. She was the queen of the world as far as he was concerned (even if he’d never say that to her face). Those two very much deserved each other, how ever you want to take that.

I’ll never forget driving down from Jersey with him in the middle of the night. I had my learner’s permit, and we were somewhere in Georgia. He asked me for the first time if I wanted a coffee. I swelled with pride, thinking “Oh, I’m one of the boys now.”

Later that night, a deer ran out in front of the road on that Georgia highway. It wasn’t even a smooth move; I didn’t have time to think. I popped the wheel of that white Buick one way and then back the other. The only other time I’ve had something like that was when a car almost took me head-on over the median in Tallahassee.

We were both silent until Popop just sort of blankly said, “That was good.” We just sipped our coffees, kept on driving and talking. I still can’t look at a deer without thinking of that dark stretch of Georgia highway.

I’m still truckin’ Popop. Love you. Happy Father’s Day.

Your Seanie