The original step-dad
When I was picking out my Father’s Day cards, I found all sorts of possible combinations: from daughter to father, from father to grandfather, from son-in-law to father-in-law, even one from the dog (I’m not kidding about that). I did not, however, see any that were geared specifically to a stepdad. It can be a little tricky, picking out the right card for a stepfather. It makes me wonder if the card industry has decided that stepfathers aren’t really family, or maybe they’re just hoping someone will make up a separate Stepfather’s Day so they can cash in even more. In case there’s any question, though, I’d like to lay out the case for why my stepdad is definitely family and should absolutely get a Father’s Day card. I think that, if you read all of my reasons, you’ll end up agreeing—and if any of you work for card companies, maybe you’ll come up with a few card options for next year.
My Reasons For Why My Stepdad Is Family:
1. He went to my school concerts and plays
I took this for granted when I was growing up. If I had a concert, everybody went. That’s just how it was. Now that I’m old enough to have to be fortunate enough to sit through go to children’s concerts myself, I understand just how much that meant, because those concerts are terrible horrible GODAWFUL. When I was a child, I thought my choir or band or whatever was usually pretty good, and comparatively speaking, we probably were. But that’s like saying that sour milk smells comparatively better than rotten eggs. It may be true, but that’s still really, really bad, and he sat through it over and over and over, knowing how dreadful it was going to be, because he wanted to support me. That’s family.
2. He helped me move
Not just once. Not just when there were elevators. Twice a summer every summer while I was in college, and about a half-dozen times since then, almost always when it was either sweltering or freezing cold with icy rain just to keep things fun. It’s not just help moving furniture, either, it’s cleaning up the apartment (including bathrooms) and fixing leaks and figuring out why that light fixture isn’t working and I don’t even know what else, because he does it all while I’m off doing something easy, and he does it without being asked, which is good because I’d never have the nerve to ask him to do half the things he does. That’s family.
3. He puts up with my pets
I once had a seven-week gap between apartment leases, and I had to ask my mom and stepdad to take the cats in while I rented a room for those seven weeks. I don’t know that I would ever describe my stepdad as a cat person. I think he’s the kind of guy that, if he had to have pets, he would pick a dog, but he’d just as soon not have anything else to have to clean up after. He took the cats in without a murmur, though, and let them have their catty way with his house. I even heard stories of him letting “that brown cat” (my siamese) curl up on his head at night, but I’m not sure I can believe that one without pictures (oh please, Mom, tell me there are pictures!). Subjecting his wall-to-wall carpeting to creatures whose favorite pastime is horking up most of the food they just ate was really testing the limits, but he did it because I needed him to and never once complained. That’s family.
4. I can’t stand the thought of disappointing him
I love my dad. A lot of the things I do, I do because I want him to be proud of me. A lot of the things that keep me up at night are things that would disappoint him. Most of the time, these things motivate me to make good choices (saving for retirement! yay!). Sometimes, not so much (don’t follow that dream! it’s not sensible!). But that’s on me because those are my choices. At the heart of every one of those things that my dad wants for me, and that I want to do to make him proud, is his wish for me to be happy. That’s how you know that someone is family. Underneath all of the fighting and nagging and drama and stress, you all truly want each other to be happy. So I make good choices because I don’t want to disappoint my father, who wants me to be happy, or my stepfather, who wants the same thing. I want to make them both proud because they’re both family.
I defy you to hear those reasons and then tell me that my stepdad doesn’t need a Father’s Day card. As an adopted child with stepparents, I can tell you categorically that blood is neither the beginning nor the end of family. Hallmark and the other greeting card companies just need to get with it. Although, I did find a pretty good card for my stepdad this year. On the front, it asked “Where would I be without you?”, and on the inside it said “Yes, but which prison?” Really, I think that sums it all up, don’t you?
[All images are in the public domain via pixabay.com]
My parents, like many others, used to read me bedtime stories in an attempt to get me to fall asleep. This almost never worked, but they couldn’t think of anything else and they weren’t allowed to dose me with whiskey, so they kept doing it. What I didn’t realize until much later is that those stories my loving parents told me night after night were filled to the brim with lies. By this, I don’t mean the talking animals or the magic beans—nothing so easily identified. Here are some of my bedtime stories and the lying lies they told me:
The lie this story told me was that you’re going to know exactly when the carriage will turn back into a pumpkin and you can totally plan around it. The truth is, it can happen at any time. You could be just walking in the door in your perfect magic ballgown, with everyone looking at you and the prince asking his courtiers, “Who’s the hottie,” when suddenly everything goes poof and you’re back in your raggedy dress, the prince is chatting up your stepsisters, and someone just made your carriage into a pie.
One of the lessons this story taught me was that, no matter how miserable you are as a child, as long as you grow up to be gorgeous, people will respect and admire you. In addition to being disturbing and unhealthy, this is also untrue. You may or may not grow up to be gorgeous, but even if you do, everyone back home is still going to think of you as the ugly duckling. You could go to your high school reunion a week after appearing on the cover of Vogue and the first thing you’ll hear will be, “Look, everyone, it’s Ugly Duck! Hey, Ugly Duck, remember how ugly you were? Man, I’ve never seen a duck look that ugly!” You can swan around all you want. To them, you’ll always be that freak who tried to pass herself off as a duck back in the day. On the upside, you’ll be able to beat them to death with your wings, so it’s not all bad.
Before I got even a crumb, the government had taken nearly half my bread and given it to all the barnyard animals who’d called nose dibs when it was time to do the work, because it didn’t want the poor things to starve. I didn’t exactly want them to starve, but that was my bread! I made it myself! I should decide who gets it. I’m still bitter about this, in case you can’t tell. Stupid lying hen. I hope she got ergot poisoning.
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