My Step-Dad died this weekend – and my watermelon vines.

It was unexpected.

Pops was like a character in a novel, not the protagonist but always in the background. A fan favorite, easter-egg-on-the-dvd, kind of guy.

Pops had the kind of history where he could do anything. He had an answer for everything (even if half the time he was pulling your leg) and he always seemed to know the whos-who of every art scene.

If you got one hundred successful folks in a room they’d all have known Pops, but somehow he was always on the periphery of success living just this side of too poor.

I don’t know if he liked watermelons.

I do know that on his last day at home, I brought watermelon.

And on the day he died, I brought watermelon.

And on the first day my mom had to wake up without him, I brought watermelon.

And the last watermelon was eaten by me and Beansprout. Sitting on the porch in the July heat with baby Ladybug taking a nap on my lap. Pops never got to meet her.

I don’t know if Pops was a watermelon kind of guy but I’m always going to associate watermelon with Pops now.

This past week I planted two new watermelons in the garden.

I’m looking forward to getting to eat them on what would have been his 70th birthday this fall.