The Step Mothership

Just started “following” a woman on Twitter (this is not like stalking, you’re supposed to follow people) who blogs about stepmothering. Her stepkid is little, mine is 21. When I married his dad, he was 11 so I’ve been part of his life for a fair amount of time. There have been super-high pros and super-low cons. But—and I’m not just saying this in case he might someday read this—the highs have totally outweighed the lows.

Some chronology:

1994 He is 8. I start dating his dad (Duncan), who is separated from his wife of 18 yrs. By all accounts, son (Duncan Jr.) bursts into tears every time my name is mentioned.

1994-1997 Awful divorce proceedings; situation deemed too fragile for us to even meet. So we have no relationship although I shop for his Xmas presents and do his laundry. Wonder if I’ll always be the maid. They’re a family. I’m not in it. Girlfriends counsel retreat. I hang in.

1997 Our first meeting. Lunch with his dad, him, and his best friend. For safety. He’s 10. I have no idea what to wear. We get a moment alone and I tell him, “Look I know your dad really wants you to like me and your mom really wants you to not like me. (Believe me, this was no secret.) All I ask is that you make up your own mind. I hope you’ll like me but if you don’t, I’ll deal with it.” He looked at me real serious and said, “OK.”

1997-1998 The 3 of us gradually begin to spend time together till it’s a regular thing. He kisses and hugs his dad and I try to make it okay for him to just wave at me. His dad is tormented about whether or not he’s handling the situation well. He is desperate about his son’s happiness. I understand, but also know he’s a bit less desperate about mine. It must be so; I am a grownup. I feel like a second class citizen because I am one. It’s absolutely clear that this relationship (father-son) takes precedence. I understand and even support this. But it still hurts.

1998 We get married and my stepson is best man. “What do I call you,” he says. “Susan,” I say. One of my vows to my husband, “I vow that the love I feel for you will include your beloved son.” I didn’t know how to do it, but really meant it. I liked this kid a lot. And he handled the whole wedding thing like a prince.

1998-2003 He shakes and shivers his way through middle school and then high school. It’s obvious that he’s an artist. It’s obvious that he’s NOT cut out for high school. He freaks out from not getting good grades. His parents don’t know what to do. They start to freak out. Suddenly he’s 6’ tall and weighs 120 lbs. He gets many zits. He grows dreadlocks. They look awful. Zits begin to disappear. He gets a buzz cut and is transformed into a majorly handsome guy. Grows more confident as an artist. Starts picking up my books about Buddhism and develops a real interest. Hey! Guess what? I’m a writer! I’m a Buddhist! We have the exact same interests. Our conversations get deeper. I think he can talk to me maybe a little easier than his parents because step-mothership conveys some distance. By this time, I love him but still my stomach doesn’t walk out the door with him as his parents’ do. The natural cool between stepparent and step kid (relative to birth parents) turns out to have value. This step-parenting thing is pretty okay, I think to myself.

2003 Is it? Time to test. His mom moves to another state. He comes to live with us full time. He’s unpacking his stuff and gets a little choked up. We hug. Over his shoulder I see a photo on our hall table: him as a baby in his father’s arms, his grandfather’s arms around them both. Three generations of Duncans. Can’t protect him from the shifting tides of time. But I can hug him.

Thus begins a year of major adjustment. Unwashed dishes. Wafting smell of pot. Strange inability to make toast without crumb-bombing the kitchen. Inscrutable teenagers watching TV in the living room in the middle of the night. Hey, I don’t remember signing up for this.

2004 He graduates high school and goes on a month-long meditation retreat. He comes home for a week or so and then goes to a week-long workshop with his artist-ideal, Alex Grey. During the workshop he’s surrounded by fellow-artists for the first time. He sees that life isn’t like high school. Alex and his wife Allyson adore him, support him, encourage him. It is the summer of Duncan. He comes home a changed man. He tells me he loves me. I love him too.

2005 He gets rejected from Mass College of Art, his first (and only, basically) choice. Reason? Portfolio: good, grades: bad. He attends community college to get his grades up. Crumbs are still everywhere.

2006 Reapplies. He is accepted. SWEET. Joy throughout the world. He moves into an apartment with a roommate.

2007 My parents are up for a visit. He draws their portrait. He asks if he can call them Grandma and Grandpa. Tears flow. We’re a family.

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