Unhurried Steps
Nov 25 '00
Life is a mystery, and it is only the passage of time that can illuminate the seemingly inconsequential threads of our life and weave them into something with meaning. You might call this fate. I was born in the windswept city of Winnipeg, Manitoba and lived there for the first ten years of my life. After my father passed away, my Mom met a man. A military man who swept her off her feet and moved her to a dull little city in Ontario. Removed far from any family and torn from roots and tradition, I did not adjust well to this move. I did not take well to this man either, blaming him for no less than ruining my life. But slowly a sort of friendship developed. Ironically it was then that he left us, leaving Mom alone in that dingy town with two young daughters to raise alone. I selfishly hoped against hope that I would not be given another Dad. Two had been more than enough.
But fate had other plans. At a community event several months later my Mom met another man and danced the night away. She was as breathless and giddy as a school girl the next day. I had to tease her a she hovered near the phone, waiting for his call. And it came, and the daughters were to be introduced to this charming stranger. As it turned out he had been the best friend of the deserter, and was also from Winnipeg. Oddly enough he had only lived three streets from us back there, and had actually met my father. Small world indeed. Their love blossomed and they were to be married on a lovely June afternoon. My Mom was in heaven.
But then reality hit with brutal force. My step-father, who I insisted on calling Bryan (not Dad) came with three children of his own. Where we were a quiet and sensitive lot, they were loud, boisterous and crude. My two new older step-sisters scared me to death. Boyfriends, parties, drinking, smoking, drugs. They didn’t like us, and took great pleasure in ridiculing us. They were no less evil to my Mom, and the strain of living with them for a whole year almost broke this tender new family unit apart. But respite came when the girls decided to leave and live with their mother. My young step-brother, still innocent and sweet would become like a brother to me, and with the new found peace in the house we were finally able to breathe and begin the evolution into a “real family”.
I came with a great deal of emotional baggage, and was in no rush to become needy of this new father figure. And in his wisdom he did not push. He played his cards right, slowly drawing me out with his unique brand of charm and humour, making time for games and helping with homework. So despite myself, we became friends, and he taught me how to laugh again. He was the first to encourage my attempts at writing, and I was amazed that this tough and sarcastic Major (Canadian Armed Forces) could find anything enjoyable in the poetry of a high school girl.
How a Step-Father becomes a Dad
Two years pass, and life begins to take on an even keel. Bryan works, we go to school, Mom teaches piano. Family traditions begin to blend. Out of love and respect for Mom, he is more than willing to honour “our old way” of doing things. It was the little things he did that caused me to admire and begin to feel affection. When introduced to friends we were his daughters, he was the first to drop the word “step” from his vocabulary. That small difference in reference spoke volumes. I began toying with the idea of calling him Dad, and wondered if that would dishonour my father.
But then came a summer spent at a cottage, a small beach and cool, blue lake at our disposal. “Do you want to go fishing with me” he asked one night as we sat enjoying the fire. “Fishing? When?” I was skeptical, did that not involve worms and slimy fish. It did not appeal to me in the least. But he convinced me, and at five am the next morning in the presence of the blushing rays of the rising sun we made our way to the boat and cast off.
And that began a truly meaningful journey. Alone on the lake, surrounded by the melodic lapping of the waves, the sough of pines perched high on rocky cliffs, and the intermittent, mournful cry of the loons, we began to discover the true essence of each other. We could talk and we could sit in companionable silence. He taught me how to use live bait, to cast, to pry the hook from the mouth of a sunfish. In doing this he was doing more than teaching me to fish, he was teaching me to try new things and overcome fears. He was sharing himself. And in those hours, the best of hours when the fish wouldn’t bite, we could relax and talk about anything. I was able to talk about my father, my pain, my fears and hopes, and he listened, and understood. And then I listened as he spun tales about his own childhood, his love of history, devious overseas exploits, his first girlfriends, his first wife. Fishing became our early morning ritual, and we went every day for the weeks spent at that cottage. He won my heart out there on the lake, and I was finally able to give him the title he so deserved. Dad.
Lessons Learned
In my experience, the greatest struggles a step-family can face usually come from the outside. Dad’s family were not overly supportive of his new family, and indeed maintained a close friendship with his first wife. It takes a strong love and commitment to ride through these battles. My mother was hurt but maintained her faith that the love she shared with her new husband would outlast all. Trust, friendship and perhaps even love take time. A child should never be forced into a relationship and should be allowed at all times to express their fears and reservations without fear of recrimination. My Dad made it clear from the beginning that he would never replace my father, he was there to be a friend and consul, and first and foremost a good and loving husband.
There is no perfect recipe for the perfect family, step or otherwise. It takes work and dedication. If we all try to understand one another, to offer acceptance and support, to respect our differences, and to let time and love work its magic then we might enjoy happy ending. A step-family can truly become a rewarding and fulfilling situation.
I now know, looking back, that fate weaved a family for me out of so many broken pieces of fabric. And we had many happy years together. Though they are gone now, they left this world leaving gifts, and I am a stronger and better person for having known and loved them all...my three parents.
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Epinions.com ID:
Caleo
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Member: Brenda C
Location: Ontario, Canada
Reviews written: 49
Trusted by: 121 members
About Me:
Searching for inspiration...
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