Wednesday, February 8, 2023
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My stepdad, Michael Parker (pictured with Eliot when she four days old), passed away peacefully in his sleep early yesterday morning, just eight days shy of his 75th birthday. He’s been in my life for 48 years. He started dating my mom when I was 6 or 7. One of my earliest memories with him is, in 1976, visiting the Bicentennial Freedom Train, a travelling museum that crossed the country via rail, when it stopped in St. Louis. My mom and Mike eventually married in 1984 (after dating 10 years) to the beat of Kool & The Gang’s Celebration. Though we didn’t always get along when I was a teenager—he could be stubborn and argumentative, and I was a teenager in the 80s—he was always very caring and giving; he gave me his 1979 charcoal gray Camaro when I was a Junior in high school. Those latter qualities grew over the years as did my respect for him.
He came from a very humble background and was living on his own while still in high school because his mother had died young and his father had a debilitating illness at the time. He was a Vietnam Veteran who was a combat engineer with the 25th Infantry Division, Co. B 65th, Engineers from Dec. 6, 1967 to 5 Dec. 5, 1968. He did mine sweeps out of Tây Ninh and was a demo man in Củ Chi. His unit’s motto was “First In, Last Out.” Though he was at times disillusioned with the US war in Vietnam (he was no fan of Gen. Westmorland), he was proud of his service to his country, especially when he was chosen to serve as honor guard at the funeral of President Eisenhower. After the war he had to overcome, what would probably now be considered PTSD, which he did primarily on his own—something I didn’t appreciate or understand until I was older. Visiting the Wall at the Vietnam War Memorial with Mike as he searched for friends he lost really drove home how difficult the war had been for him.
He was hard working, intelligent and always learning. He had a number of jobs from working on the railroad to manufacturing silicon chips in the early days of computers. He owned a pool hall and later owned a clothing store with my mom. He was a locksmith and worked for a funeral home. He also had an artistic side: He was a self-taught, award-winning photographer, developed a talent for woodworking, and, when he was younger, loved music. From him, I learned to love Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, which he owned on vinyl, and Led Zeppelin. I’m still jealous he got to see them in concert. Though, he and my mom did take me to my first concert: Kenny Rogers, when I was in 8th grade, which was not quite the same as Zeppelin.
He was Elsberry alderman for eight years. For many years, he served on the board of Elsberry’s public library and helped oversee its transition to a new building. He loved history, especially presidential history, and was an admirer of JFK. He was a lifelong St. Louis Cardinals fan. Some of my fondest memories are from the 1982 World Series. On the night of Game 3, he and I slept outside old Busch stadium to get bleacher seat tickets or a potential game 7. Everyone one in line had a portable radio or TV and was listening or watching. We all roared when Willie McGee made that leaping, home-run-robbing catch in center field. We went on to watch from the bleachers as the Cardinals beat the Brewers in Game 7 to win the World Series.
But over the years it became abundantly clear that family was the most important thing to him; it was his anchor. He was a loving husband, stepfather, father and grandfather. He’s always been there for Andrew (my half-bother) and I. As you can see in the above photo, he loved his granddaughter. Even when he was in very poor health this December, he wanted to make sure she got Christmas gifts. One of my last conversations with him was about making sure she had received them. Most of all he loved my mom, who died early last year. That was most evident as he cared for her as she struggled with Alzheimer’s over the last several years. It was a difficult journey, which he dedicated himself to and handled with loving grace. I will always be grateful for that. Love and miss you always, Michael.
