Lexington, KY - When people are referring to my dad and me, there are two words that can immediately incite furious pangs of vitriol: stepdad and stepson.
In many instances in the ever-changing family kaleidoscope one encounters today, these are appropriate terms that hastily and stoically describe the relationship a boy shares with the man who is now living with his mom and him. No love loss there. But for the men who have transcended the detached legalese associated with these words, the vocabulary can be cheap and impersonal, for all parties concerned.
I have nothing but reverence and admiration for successful stepfathers, as they have a hard row to hoe. At the onset, they have to woo two parties -†the mother and her children, who are essentially, and sometimes stubbornly, the gatekeepers to the initiation of a lasting relationship. Later, they have to precariously gain respect as an authoritative figure while simultaneously not infringing on any relationship the children may have with their biological father. In the end, they can often end up assuming the duties inherent with being a dad, without hesitation.
Maybe we need a new expression that properly describes the men who have wholeheartedly embraced -†financially, emotionally and unwaveringly -†the responsibility of caring for a child they didn't bring into this world? Certainly they have earned it.
Others might need a word like that, but I just say "Dad" when I'm talking about the man my mom remarried. I know he's earned it, whether he wants it or not.
Sometimes though, that title can cause some confusion. For starters, we have different last names, and he's only 15 years older than I am. It just doesn't seem natural to people who don't know us. But there he was: dropping me off at kindergarten when he was 20, picking me up on the side of the road after I'd wrapped his car around a telephone pole when he was 31, paying for my college a few years later. Not surprisingly, now in his mid-40s, he hasn't yet started asking when he's going to be a grandfather.
If prodded, I will, under my breath, with shifty eyes, concede that he is my stepdad, but only to quickly clarify the situation, and even then I feel as if I've committed a heinous act of betrayal. Similarly, he wouldn't ever introduce me as anything other than his oldest son.
Sometimes I feel a little gypped that we don't share the same genes, but then I remember that he's slightly vertically challenged and I don't feel so remorseful about it.
I don't know if they have any Hallmark cards for it yet, but this Father's Day, if you've got a good one, don't forget your stepdad. I won't forget my dad.