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A year ago, on October 9, 2000, my stepfather, Joseph Carleton, died at the age of 67 after a four-month battle with stomach cancer. On this anniversary, I find myself reflecting on how I came to love Joe. 

I’ve sometimes thought that men who marry women with small children must really be in love, because they’re so often entering hostile territory. When Joe first started dating my mother, Ruth, in the mid-1960s, I didn’t like him very much.  

My brother, Jeff, and I met the news of Joe’s engagement to my mother with sullen silence. In addition to the intrusion into our relationship with our mother, I guess we feared being disloyal to our father. And Joe’s flaws as a stepparent mirrored the negative stereotypes of his profession, mechanical engineering: he could be perfectionistic, remote, and overly critical. I remember him going in after we bathed to make sure we hadn’t used too much water (he’d feel the inside of the tub for wetness and warmth to check the level). 

The year 1968 was a turning point, not only for our country – with the Vietnam War raging, the anti-war and civil rights movements filling the streets, the assassinations, and the violence at the Democratic Convention in Chicago – but also in my feelings towards Joe. Although I was only 10, I was well aware of the events of the times. 

One memory stands out. It was April, and I was sitting on the couch in our living room. The front door opened, and I heard a sound I had never encountered before. Joe was sobbing as my mother rushed to meet him. I remember worrying that something had happened to Joe’s mother, my new grandmother.  

“They’ve shot him,” I heard Joe say to my mother, and they held each other tightly as they cried together. Then they joined me on the couch to tell me that the great civil rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr. had just been killed. I remember Joe piling us all in the car that evening to take us to the one black Baptist church in Palo Alto for an impromptu service, where we were among a handful of white people in a sanctuary overflowing with grief-stricken parishioners. 

Although I already respected my parents’ political involvement on an intellectual level, this was the first time I understood that the motivation for it was deep love. Joe’s work in the civil rights movement came from his heart. 

Over the years, I’ve seen that all the hard work Joe did for many causes came from the same place. His work as an environmentalist and conservation chair of the local Sierra Club chapter stemmed directly from his love of nature; his involvement in the anti-war movement arose out of a heartfelt belief in peace and a fierce patriotism that required him to speak out when he saw his country doing wrong; and his support of farmworkers and the civil rights movement came from a true love of justice. 

I came to see that Joe used his mind and intellect to serve his heart, as he fought for the things he believed in. He was also willing to be of service in smaller ways, fixing an elderly friend’s refrigerator, or going miles out of his way to help a stranger whose car had broken down. And although he was sometimes emotionally distant, Joe was always there to lend a hand when I needed it. 

Now, as our world faces uncertain times, I find myself really missing Joe. I know Joe would be acutely concerned about our nation’s safety and security, and that he’d want the perpetrators of the crimes of September 11 brought to justice, but I also know without a doubt that he would be committed to working for peace and that he’d never stand by silently while our civil liberties were eroded. And his deepest motivation would be love. 

Nancy Carleton is a long-time community activist who has served as chair of the Zoning Adjustments Board and as vice chair of the Parks and Recreation Commission. She is currently active in the growing peace movement.