Stepfather Once Removed [6 parts] | Humorous Family-Parenting Essays and Stories at Humor Is Relative

Some family-theme events, and memories we have, are not always the knee-slapper or laugh-a-minute variety. John opens the door for us to have a glimpse into his life by sharing a wonderful reflective, and sentimental, essay about his past. And then shares, with Humor Is Relative readers, about when relationships fail. Tender and heart-felt in wording his memories, about becoming close to another person and - subsequently - certain members of that person's family, with the right touches of humor interjected. appropriate, in my opinion, for sharing as the year draws to an end and we prepare for a new one's beginning. This one is a doozy, over 5,000 words in length, so was split into individual pages for reading ease.

As time passed, I grew closer to Linda and Suzie. I loved their mother, so, at first, I loved them simply because I loved their mother. But with time, I grew to love them for themselves. Although I was never quite their stepfather, I knew I was much more than just "Mommy's boyfriend." Amy told me several times that I was more of a father to the girls that their actual father was, and I loved the role. I'd never experienced something like the feeling I got when Suzie asked me to rewind an episode of Teletubbies over and over again, then fell asleep in my arms. I can still remember how slowly I moved when rising from the couch while holding her gently enough not to wake her, then placing her softly into her bed and kissing her on the forehead. When she woke for a moment, she asked, "Why did you do that for?" then kissed me on the cheek and rolled over to slip back into sleep.

Suzie also enjoyed using me as her own private jungle gym, climbing on me in ways that seemed to defy physics. She would carefully position me exactly how she wanted me, usually standing with my feet and arms spread at odd angles, then she would back up, let out a holler, charge, and land on me in a sprinting leap, first scrambling up one side, then down the other, all the while digging her little heels and fingernails into parts of my body that were impossible to protect. Sometimes I wouldn't even notice the bruises until I stepped out of the shower later in the week and saw them in the bathroom mirror.

Three times a week, I would rearrange my work schedule and pick Suzie up from pre-school because her mother was working or taking classes. We had more than two hours to kill before Linda got out of school, so I would drive Suzie (sometimes with one or another of her little friends on a hastily arranged play date) very slowly ten miles to the McDonalds with the playscape inside-not the "dumb" one with the playscape outside that Suzie hated. She would climb endlessly through the tunnels and jump into the pool of plastic balls, never once getting tired. Every ten seconds, she would call out, "John watch me, watch me John!" Of course I was already watching her, partly terrified that she might hurt herself, but mostly amazed at the bundle of activity and intelligence and personality that I had been entrusted with for an afternoon.

Linda realized quickly that I was a good outlet for getting time away from her little sister, whom she loved, of course, but whose non-stop energy and need for attention could be draining. If we were at Amy's house watching a movie, and I suggested going to the store to pick up ice cream, Linda would take me by the arm, pull me into the kitchen, and say, "I want to go with you to the store, but we have to find a way to do it without Suzie. Only we can't just say, 'Suzie, you have to stay home,' because she'll throw a fit, and it's not worth the trouble if she's going to throw a fit." So we'd make our plans for misdirection, shake hands on the deal, and somehow end up sneaking out to my car and heading off to the store. Our schemes occasionally backfired, but more often than not, they worked. We were so skilled that when we returned with several flavors of Ben and Jerry's, Suzie sometimes didn't even know we had gone.

I soon discovered that Linda was one of the few children on earth who enjoyed doing her homework. And she soon discovered that I would drop everything to help her. We would read assignments together, puzzle over answers to math problems, quiz each other on vocabulary words, and learn about geography and social sciences. Sometimes I felt like I was going through elementary school again, only this time I actually enjoyed it. I never once gave Linda an answer while doing her homework, but I helped her figure out ways to discover those answers on her own. Once, Amy asked me to join her for a parent-teacher conference at Linda's school. The teacher said that Linda's homework was always on time and that Linda had mentioned enjoying the time we spent together working on it. I almost had to excuse myself as a big, fat, wet tear plopped out of my eye. "I'm not sure how it happened," I later told Amy, "but I think Linda inherited some of my DNA."

Several times Amy and the girls came to my Children's Literature class at the community college where I teach. They usually came on presentation nights when the students talked about children's books they found interesting or acted out skits and sing-alongs. Linda took careful notes of the books that caught her attention. Suzie squirmed in her seat, laughed at the funny parts, and eventually crawled down on the floor and went to sleep. Amy always looked more beautiful to me on those nights. When I introduced the three of them to my class, my mouth said, "friends," but my heart said, "family."

Amy and the girls liked the fact that I was a writer as well as a teacher. I loved taking dictation and typing Linda's stories about purple horses and children who hide in the forest. I'd make subtle suggestions and ask questions if she got a temporary case of writer's block. And Suzie enjoyed pretending to read while she made up her own stories that only vaguely matched the pictures in a new book we read together. Amy sometimes asked me to write poems about the girls. As much as I wanted to, for reasons I can't explain, I had a hard time with the task. Then one day, completely out of the blue, these two little poems arrived, the first for Suzie, and the second for Linda.

when her mom
isn't looking
four-year-old
offers her new church shoes
for the puppy to chew

listening as
the eight-year-old casually
practices her violin
every third or fourth note
almost brings a tear

Fewer than twenty words in each poem, no title, yet each one helps me remember what I love about each girl: Suzie's unflappable individualism and carefree approach to life, Linda's artistic sensitivity and depth of focus. Even now, I can't re-read these poems of moments that seem insignificant without half a smile and half a broken heart.

About The Author: John Sheirer teaches public speaking, writing, and literature at Asnuntuck Community College in Enfield, Connecticut. His writing has been published widely in print and on the internet, and he is the author of a public speaking guidebook, Shut Up and Speak!, a collection of poems, Saying My Name: Selected Poems, 1982-2002, and a book of essays, Free Chairs. He is currently completing a memoir, Growing Up Mostly Normal in the Middle of Nowhere.

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John Sheirer: Free Chairs

Free Chairs[John Sheirer; 224 pages]
Did you enjoy the excerpt, Stepfather Once Removed, from Free Chairs? Then you may be interested in reading John's other heart-warming and thought-provoking essays contained in this collection! Can you relate?

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Stepfather Once Removed [6 parts] by John Sheirer

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