My Life as a Step Parent Pt. 1

Ladies and Gentlemen!!! Boys and Girls, Dogs, Cats, and Hamsters, Multiple personalities, Alter Egos, and Imaginary Friends. . . . . .

LLLLLLLLLLLET'S GET READY TO PUUUUUUUUUUUUUKKKKKKEEEEEEE!!!!! (Hopefully I won't have to pay Michael Buffer any royalties for that.)

I was given an idea yesterday to "puke" on the first time becoming a parent.  I sat back and thought for a little bit and came to the conclusion that there is TONS of stuff I could talk about when it comes to NOT being a parent, but being a STEP PARENT, or as I like to call it, a Stunt Double. Some will be funny stories but eventually I might even get deep with the topic.  Who knows.

Let me start off by saying that I do not have any kids of my own, BUT, I have been a step parent in two major relationships throughout my now 42 year life.  My first experience came when I was just a lad at 22 and that lasted for 13ish years.  I was fresh out of college and got involved with a woman that had two kids, one boy and one girl.  They were great kids, but I can honestly say that I wasn't quite mature enough to realize just what I was getting into.  I went from being a 22 year old college student to being a step father to two kids OVERNIGHT.  It was quite a shock to me at the time.  Here is what I would liken it to.

***Analogy Alert.  Analogy Alert***

Growing up I was a huge "jock".  I played sports whenever and wherever I could.  In fact, our back yard was the local arena for most sporting contests that took place.  Baseball, Football, Smear the Queer, (It had NO negative connotation back then, so settle down.  The "Queer" was the idiot that decided to grab the  football and try to hold on to it while the rest of us tried our hardest to "SMEAR" him), and just about any other sport that could be played by 6-8 kids in the neighborhood.

Well my older brother Mark was the intellectual of the family.  If you wanted to find him, just go inside the house and look for the kid reading a book.  I really can't remember him being outside playing all too much, but of course, I might be wrong.  I think there was a time that he wanted to take part in the ritual of playing a sport and so he asked Dad if he wanted to play catch with the football.  Dad loved the fact that his son wanted to actually get out and "toss the pigskin", (no animals were harmed in the writing of this blog) so he grabbed the football and headed out to the backyard. I followed, because if there was going to be sport stuff happening, I was going to be part of it.

So after a few warm up tosses, my Dad tells my brother to "Go long".  Which for those of you that don't know what that means, it means just start running as fast and as far as you can, and the football will come in your general direction.  So off my brother goes.  He's running fast and far and looking back at my Dad to see when the football was coming.  Dad let the ball go and Mark, the sprinting kid, got ready to catch this gift that was coming his way.  It was a perfect throw and a perfect catch.  You would have thought you were watching Joe Montana and Jerry Rice connect for an 80 bomb that would seal the win for the 49ers, except for ONE THING.   There were no trees on the middle of the field in Candlestick Park in San Francisco. 
Actually, I should just say that there wasn't a TREE.  Because there was only ONE TREE that Mark could possibly find that day and I think you know where this is going by now.

Mark made the perfect over the shoulder catch from this bomb that my Father had thrown him.  You could see the elation on his face as he pulled the football gently into his arms.  You could see in slow motion that he was now picturing himself on the field someday catching a ball like this that would win the game for his team.  You could in this split second see that he was proud of himself, proud of this catch, proud of showing me and Dad that he could catch, proud of his new career in football, proud of. . . . . .

BAM!!!!!!!!!

(The sound of Mark's head being introduced to the tree)

Yep. Mark DID make the catch, but as soon as he turned to reach the endzone, the Football Safety we will name "Oak McTree", hit him so hard that even I felt it. So Mark went from elation to deflation in one fatal second. He went from an illustrious career on the gridiron, to pooping himself in the middle of the backyard as his family watched in horror, except me, I was laughing my butt off, because if you can't laugh at your siblings misery and pain, WHAT COULD YOU LAUGH AT? Now I have heard many sounds while playing sports throughout my life, and this ranks right up there with one of the worst.

I am happy to say that he did get up poop free, but he had a knot on his forehead that looked UGLY.  It was one of those injuries that you just accepted as a kid and Mom would rush you off inside the house to put frozen peas on it.  You didn't worry about concussion or brain damage back then, if you could still walk, you were FINE.  Mark's sporting career came to an end that day, but that was fine with him, books were his friend. I think it's kind of ironic though because books hurt my head all the time back then the same way sports hurt him.

***Analogy Over Alert***

So becoming a step father was pretty much just like that. I was running full speed into a new relationship until I ran smack dab into the tree that was known as REALITY. Heck, I will call it REALITREE. (Clever little cuss aren’t I?) There was no moment like what I'm about to relay that sums up that realitree (I'm going to patent that word) better. 

I don't really remember all the details as to why, what, and where, but I do know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I discovered two words that I would grow such a fear for that day.   Two little words that would invoke Terror, cold sweats, and the "Heebie Jeebies" in me quicker than anything I've ever crossed before.  These two words turned out to be MY tree in the middle of MY field of this thing called a relationship.  I have used these two words on many occasions myself, but NEVER knew what horror they could bring one day.  These two words were   "I'm Done."  and I will forever call THIS tree, "Poopie McTree".

I was left alone in the house with the 2'ish year old boy.  Like I said before, I don't remember all the details as to why, but it really isn't important to the story.  So here I am, Mr. Cool 22 year old, fresh out of college BOY.  I'm watching TV and minding my own business.  The 2'ish year old was watching cartoons with me, because I quickly learned that cartoons were great equalizers, and so all was going well on my alone time with kids.  He got up and went to the bathroom which was no big deal to me, after all, who doesn't know how to go to the bathroom?  Well roughly 10 minutes later, I realized that it WAS GOING TO BE A BIG DEAL IN MY WORLD!!!

I'm sitting there watching the television and I hear this come from the bathroom.   "I'm DONE."  I was like that's odd.  Why would he feel the need to tell me that he was done, so I ignored it and went back to see if the Coyote was going to finally catch the Road Runner.  Well right as the Coyote was putting together his ACME Grappling Hook Cannon, I heard those two words again. . . . . "I'm DONE." 

Now I was from Ohio and was now living in Florida, so I thought maybe this was just what the "Southerners" did down here.  You would announce to the World that you were done relieving yourself.  Cool.  I couldn't wait to try it at McDonalds.  So I responded back with, "Okay."  I thought that would be a proper response to something like that.  To which I hear again, "I'M DONE!!!!"  I sense a disturbance in the force, so I get up to walk to the bathroom door.  I knock and say, "Are you okay in there?"  To which he responds, "Yes. I'm done."  To which I say, "Okay.  Well flush and come on out.  The Coyote just got his cannon set up."  He then says, "Help.  I'm Done."  To which I open the door to see what's what.  I see this 2'ish year old boy sitting on the toilet with his pants around his ankles looking at me like he expects something from me.  I say, "What?" He then informs me that he is ready to be wiped.

I kind of wished I could have had an out of body experience right then so I could have seen the look on my face as "Poopie McTree" nailed me square in the face.  I'm sure I turned pale, I'm sure cold sweat formed on my brow, and I'm sure that I started to shake like a Chihuahua when I realized what was being asked of me.
"You need me to do what?" was all I could think to say.  I guess I was just hoping that he would say, "Just Kidding Sir.  I was playing a sick joke on you to welcome you to my family.  Ha Ha.  You can leave now."  He then confirmed my fear when he said, "I'm ready to be wiped." to which I uttered under my breath, "OH DEAR LORD!!!!!"

I think I would be one of those people that would be described as having a "weak stomach".  Poop and puke will almost ALWAYS send me into dry heaves immediately.  Not mine mind you, because I don't stink, but others. 

In a span of 3 seconds, I played scenario after scenario over in my mind on how I was going to do this, and EACH scenario ended with a 2'ish year old covered in MY puke.  I have never faced a "Fight or Flight" moment like this in all my 22 years.  So as I debated just shutting the door, turning up the TV so I wouldn't hear him yelling, "I'm DONE, I'm DONE, I'm DONE", and waiting for his mother to get home so I could say, "I don't know where he is.",  my stupid inner voice told me that I was going to HAVE to do this. 

So I approached the child sitting on the toilet and I got my first dry heave as my mind knew what was to come.  I reached down and grabbed the toilet paper to get it ready for the world’s fastest wipe.  (Dry heave #2).  Then the smell hit me, before I even went in for the kill, the smell came up and punched me in the gut so hard I thought I was about to wipe Mike Tyson.  (Dry heave #3)  All I kept thinking about would be how was I going to explain to the mother why her child was sitting on the toilet with a poopy butt and Lucky Charms all down his back from me.  I couldn't let that happen.

So not knowing what to do, I asked him.  "What am I supposed to do here?".    "Wipe my butt." he said honestly, and then bent over to allow me access.  (Dry heave #4)  I took a deep breath and went into "Poop Valley".  I took my first wipe and between the smell and feeling of what I was doing, I now did dry heave #5 but with liquid.  I dropped that piece of toilet paper in the water as if it was acid in my hand and had to back out of the room to swallow this liquid and catch my breath.  I stood there breathing like I was in a Lamaze Class.  I'm sure the boy was in shock over how this whole thing was going down, but I was only thinking of him covered in puke and thought that would be worse than me backing out after every wipe.
So that's how it went.

#1.  Run in
#2.  Grab a HUGE chunk of toilet paper, because I would have just dropped over if I would have had a tear issue.
#3.  Kid would bend over
#4.  Dry Heave
#5.  Wipe and throw
#6.  Run out of the room to my Lamaze Class swallowing my Lucky Charms and milk that revisited me.
#7.  Back to Step #1.

I managed to get it done without puking, but it was touch and go throughout the whole ordeal.  I swore right then and there that I would teach him to wipe himself and school was going to be in session REAL QUICK because I couldn't face that each and every day.  I looked like I had been sprayed with pepper spray from my eyes watering from the dry heaves, my stomach hurt from the muscle strain from the dry heaves, and I couldn't eat Lucky Charms for a long, long time after that.

So here was my tree folks!!!  Here was the thing that snapped me into Realitree. (I love that)   The poop caked tushy of a 2'ish year old innocent child that looked to me for help.  I learned to fear those two words, "I'm Done" for a long time afterwards and even to this day if I hear someone say them, I dry heave.  I managed to "Fight" instead of "Flight" but it was HARD. 

My life as a Step Father has been very rewarding but VERY INTERESTING at times.  This moment to me sums it all up so perfectly. I didn't truly know what I was getting into, but I did the best I could.  I never got the joy of seeing a baby born.  I never held a child that was mine.  I had to learn things on the fly and let me tell you one thing.  On THIS occasion. . . . . .It was a CRAPPY JOB!!!!

"I'M DONE"

Smile!!!