I woke up yesterday thinking about Steffie.
And today my dads’ headstone was placed.
I don’t know what took so long. It doesn’t matter.
Steffie was my dads’ patient. She had down syndrome and was maybe in her twenties when I met her. I think I was 7. My dad was coaching my soccer team and somehow it was arranged that Steffie would be the assistant coach. I don’t remember a conversation where my dad told me it would be happening, I just remember that it did.
We’d pick her up on the way to every practice and game and drop her off afterwards.
She always seemed happy to be there and I liked having her around.
My dad was teaching fifteen 7 year olds how to play soccer and must have thought to himself, yeah while I’m at it, I’ll also teach my patient with down syndrome to coach.
Meanwhile I get annoyed when someone asks to borrow a pen.
My dad was kind.
That’s for sure.