Remembering My Pete: A Tribute to My Dad and Best Friend
When I think of my dad, Pete, my heart swells with a mixture of nostalgia, gratitude, and a touch of amusement. Pete wasn’t my biological father, but he helped my mom raise me and my sister. He shaped me and became my best friend. He embraced the role of a father with a passion and enthusiasm that was uniquely his own.
Our shared experiences are etched into my memory, each one a testament to the kind of man Pete was. One of my fondest memories is going fishing with him. Those moments by the water, with him patiently teaching me how to cast a line, are some of the simplest and most cherished times of my life. It wasn’t just about catching fish; it was about the conversations, the laughter, and the lessons wrapped up in those quiet hours. Especially when he said, “I know you’re a female, but I want to tell you some jokes like one of the guys, so today, you’ll be my son…” I busted out laughing and said, “Ok!” And he proceeded to tell me his and his pals’ guy jokes.
Pete was far from perfect. He was, in fact, a bit on the wild side—our family’s own big teenager, always up to some kind of mischief. But that’s exactly what made him so endearing and unforgettable. His craziness was our crazy, his antics were our adventures, and his exuberance brought a unique flavor to our family life.
It’s funny how life works. As a kid, I resisted many of the things Pete tried to teach me. I didn’t quite understand why he was always pushing me to learn about fixing things, working with tools, or cooking hearty meals. Yet, here I am, carrying forward his legacy in ways I never expected.
Because of Pete, I’m now the family’s handy person, the “handy Mandy,” fixing everything around the house. I refurbish furniture with the same dedication he had, turning old pieces into new treasures. I’ve passed on his love for fishing to my daughters, making it a special activity we share together. Pete also taught me how to take care of a car—a skill that has proven invaluable over the years.
One of the most special skills he passed down to me was his recipe for cooking a big pot of beans and ham hocks, his favorite dish. I remember the smell of those beans simmering on the stove, filling the house with warmth and comfort. Now, cooking that meal connects me to him in a way that few things can.
As I’ve grown older and become a parent myself, I’ve come to appreciate the wisdom behind Pete’s teachings. The things I once resisted and rebelled against are now the very skills and values I cherish. I understand now why he fussed over the little things and pushed me to learn. It was his way of preparing me for life, of ensuring I had the tools I needed to navigate the world.
Pete may have been a bit unconventional, but his love and dedication were unwavering. His lessons were sometimes tough but always full of love. Today, as I look back on those years with him, I see the impact he made on my life. I see his influence in the person I’ve become, and I’m deeply grateful for every moment we shared.
Pete wasn’t just a father; he was a mentor, a friend, and a source of endless inspiration. His legacy lives on in the skills I use, the values I hold, and the memories I cherish. As I continue to fish with my daughters, fix things around the house, and cook those cherished beans, I feel his presence with me, guiding me just as he always did.
