The thing about being a stepdad is that you’re thrust into the thick of parenthood with very little linear training. Kids come first. You read it all over Facebook on those god-awful motivational quotes, you see it beat to death by Disney, and other parents quote it as gospel; but, like most truisms in life, you don’t have any idea until you have to live it. I never realized how selfish I was until my daughter jumped on my bed at 6:00 am on a Sunday, and in a hangover haze I told her to wait—breakfast is going to be late today. And that used to be a reasonable answer. I even threw my clock at a friend that woke me up prematurely on a day off, and I was sympathized with. But not with kids.
I know I should get up and make breakfast—that’s the rub. My father always had French toast when I woke up. I just never thought about it. Until kids, I was the only protagonist in my life.
My daughter came back from trick-or-treating, and the first thing she did was splay her candy out on the living room. She began the divvying-up process with her friend, and all I could think about was my father watching me in my bundled up vampire costume, divvying up my candy. I used to think he thought we were silly when he smiled at us, but now I know, he was probably thinking of his father.
In the most endearing, Canadian film of all time, One Week, the hero goes on a search for Grumps, a mythological creature that is a symbol for lost youth. I think children are Grumps—they remind us of the best parts of our youth—even if it is jumping on your parents’ bed at 6:00 am on a Sunday—time for French toast.
