(Photo: Moise and his sons John and Joe spend much of their lives together, digging, plowing, sawing, hauling.)

Amish children go to school, but the real core of education for them is the family,  working with their fathers and mothers from their earliest years to learn about the lives they will most likely be leading to farm, build, eat, cook, plant, worship, and live.

I got a title change today, and it was revealing; it made me think a good deal about fathers, sons, family, and friends. It helped me understand my relationship with Moise and his family in a new and different way. And that’s what has drawn me to the Amish – what I am learning not just about them but about me, the person I am, and the person I hope to be.

Moise announced that I was his Step-Dad.

I stopped over their farm to ask Barbara and the girls if they could come to our farm in the morning and rake some leaves, the one major chore Maria doesn’t like to do. They are happy to come and will be here with their buggy around 9 a.m.

As I talked to Barbara, I heard the familiar “Hey, Johnnie Boy,” outside, and Moise came thundering into the kitchen, his new boots already covered in a coating of mud, scrapes, sawdust, and concrete.

They looked just as old as the old ones but had no holes – yet. I’ll be long gone before he decides to get another one.

I sometimes wonder about what Moise thinks about our friendship and the things I am constantly and gently urging him to do – brighter illumination for the buggies, new boots, better display stands for the food.

I am slowly letting go of the tension and unease (and drama) that so often surrounds English friendships.

I don’t worry about Moise getting angry at me. The Amish don’t do that. I don’t worry about him being bothered by me. They don’t do that either.  I don’t worry about him talking about me behind my back. They never do that.

I can never really disappoint him.

And I never worry about him being dishonest or shy with me. The Amish genuinely don’t know how to lie or disassemble. If they don’t want something, they say no.

If something is troubling them or stretching their faith,  they say so directly and with no hesitation. They don’t hold grudges; they don’t judge people; they never speak poorly of anyone. They don’t seek charity.  Friends are for life.

Those are all things I struggle to never do, and more and more, I am succeeding.

Moise has never said a word about the boots I got him, but today he pointed them out to me and said with pride, “see? no holes, Johnnie-Boy.” That’s how he says thanks.

Then as he was leaving, he turned to me and smiled: “You know what? You’re my Step-Dad now.” Then he walked out and rushed out to continue working.

He said a few words, but in reality, he said a lot.

Step-parents play an enormous role in the lives of Amish people, mainly because the Amish do not live as long as we do. They don’t often go to doctors, monitor their diets, see dentists, check their hearts and blood pressure. They leave their health and safety in God’s hands.

They punish their bodies with back-breaking labor. They love sweets and sugar.

And when a parent dies, they choose a stepmother and father to keep the family structure intact. Step-dads worry about their stepchildren, bring them things, figure out what they like to eat, encourage them or get them boots if they need some.

They search for efficient food stands. Sound familiar?

Moise has a stepmother; Barbara has a stepfather. I’ve met them, they visit often and are visited by the Millers often. They fill some of the gaps of loss, are reassuring figures,  and they counsel and monitor their stepchildren. It is no small thing in this culture to be called a “step” parent.

With Moise and I, the relationship has never been about hanging out with one another or sitting up all night yakking. It’s about trust and direction. We are both spiritual men always working on our spirituality.

The Spiritual Man (Or Woman), writes Thomas Merton, no matter his or her faith, tries to reproduce, in his or her own individual way, something of the balance and perfection and order found in the character and teaching of Jesus Christ, whether he is believed to be the son of God or not.

Our souls enjoy the most common and simple and intimate of our human emotions – affection, pity and sorrow, happiness, pleasure or grief, indignation and wonder, weariness, anxiety and fear, consolation and peace.

At some level, this is where Moise and I met and recognize a common aspiration in each other. The Amish don’t have friends in the way I was taught to think about it, certainly not outside of their community.

So what am I? I think Moise put a name on it.

As people like me get older, a curious thing happens.

We never imagine ourselves as old, we always think of ourselves as being younger, except when I look in a mirror. That shock is fleeting. Sometimes it occurs to me that when I meet younger people, I must look old to them. Because I am old.

Moise is 50 and I’m 74 and that means there are a lot of years between us. We aren’t peers, we come from different worlds and live in different worlds. I know nothing about the things he does all day and he has no idea how I make a living.

We are friends in one sense, but as our relationship with him and the family deepened, it has become something else. Something broader, something older.

Moise is, in some ways, the son I never had, perhaps the one that died so many years ago. He is also in some ways the friend I always wanted.

I worry about him, advise him when asked. He came to me to ask if he should sell the book about the assault on two of his children some years ago, the police officer who handled the case and wrote about it asked him to. He felt he owed the officer something, and he hated feeling silenced or not being open.

I sensed he wanted some counsel, and I urged him to say no, it would be cruel and disruptive to him and Barbara and to his children to bring that pain into his new life here, it was no one’s business here. He wanted people to like the food they make, and be known for their farming,  he didn’t need people to focus on a tragedy.

He owed the police official nothing but thanks.

I remember that in that conversation – he took my advice – something clicked and we were drawn to one another. We have always trusted each other. It was the beginning of our friendship.

And perhaps I am something of a father figure to him, he loved his father very much and he died just a year or so ago, about the time Moise moved her. I never think of that because I never think of myself as a generation older than Moise. Moise is proud of what he is doing, and I think he appreciates my approval. Perhaps he needs it.

I see how close Moise and his sons are, they are almost always together, working together, sharing their every burden, learning and teaching every minute.

I had no relationship with my father at all, we rarely spoke, almost never did anything together, and he was almost never home. My father taught me absolutely nothing and I learned nothing from him.

Perhaps this is what powerful friendships and relationships are about – we each fill the holes in the lives of others. Until I met Maria, I was never really close to anyone, and never realized it.

I love my daughter and granddaughter, but we live far apart and are not really an integral part of each other’s lives. Brooklyn is just too different than the world around me and my farm. Facetime is not the same for me.

First, I was close to Moise, then I got to know Barbara.

Then my relationship with the children blossomed into something beautiful and meaningful for me.

I know they are not my grandchildren, and this is not my family, but…There is something of that in our relationship. There is love and connection there, not just for Moise, who I rarely speak to, but the whole family, who I see almost every day.

Today, I see that the friendship is with the whole family, which is how the Amish world works. Webs of Well-being.

There is a comfort level in our relationship that is new to me, outside of Maria.

I’ve never really trusted it before or had it before. When Moise tells me I have become a  “Step Dad,” for him, that is the equivalent of a hug and a kiss, and I felt it. Of course, he said it and rushed quickly out the door, we were not going to have a conversation about it. We would just live it.

“Oh,” said Barbara, “you loved hearing that, didn’t you?” How could she know that? She doesn’t miss much.

A Step-Dad is a kind of promotion for me, it acknowledges both the age difference between us and the connection between us, me and the whole family. I’ve learned that Moise listens carefully to me, as I listen carefully to him, and when I say it’s important to have boots with no holes, he says nothing but listens.

But they are on his feet. And he very much loves his new boots, I am told.

I realize when Moise said that that he values me a great deal, perhaps even more than he values a “friend,” since the Amish have countless friends within their community. Most of them are not looking for more, they can barely visit the ones they have.

But I see now that Moise and I are each filling a void in the other’s lives. I love pondering the wheel of life, it is always changing, always turning. And I value him as well.

When I first started visiting the Amish, Moise said he told the family that “Jon likes to do things for people.” He is pretty savvy for a 50-year-old, he is one of those people who doesn’t say much but sees everything. Once again, he is able to see what is happening and speak of it without drama or elaboration. That is a rare gift.

For all of its strangeness and controversy, I see the Amish world as a collection of Webs Of Well Being, and I appear to have been drawn into one, even though it’s only on the edges of both of our lives.

The Amish are not at the center of my life on the farm, and I am not at the center of their life in their Amish community.

A number of women, many angry, have chastised me for failing to see the suffocation and domination that comes with living in an avowed patriarchy. But I do see it, I know what happens to a conversation when Moise walks into a room, and how all laughing and joking steps, not out of fear, but out of faith.

I’d have to be both stupid and oblivious not to see it.

But I see other things too, and they come from deep in my life and my often broken heart.

I get what Moise is saying, and I appreciate both his simple wisdom and directness.

He doesn’t have a dad or Step Dad, and I didn’t have a father or a son, and the family I do have, except for Maria, is far away. I’m the one who did that and I own it and take responsibility.

This is what I love about the spiritual life, even though I so often fall short of it. The world brings me what I need if I trust it and allow it.

When I brought the pizza to the Millers tonight, Lena came out smiling and said “hey, grandpops.” I laughed and I said, “Lena, I think I’ve been either promoted or demoted. It seems like I’m a Step Dad now.”

Oh, she said, taking the pizzas out of my hand and walking into the kitchen with them, “that’s a promotion, oh yes.”

(Photo: Moise and Joe digging a water line to the new barn.)