Three weeks ago, my husband and I dropped our oldest off at college. After days of packing, we crammed the items necessary for dorm life into the car for the four-hour drive to campus, and left the rest behind. When I closed the door on his empty room, I did not shed a single tear.
My equanimity in the days leading up to my stepson’s departure troubled some parents I know. My friends sending children to college were struggling. Where I saw opportunity and new challenges for my oldest, they saw loss. I was envious of my stepson’s freedom; they were distressed at their own. People asked how I was coping. I told them I expected to be sad when we said our final goodbyes (for the record, I was), but that over all I was doing just fine. Every single one of them said something like this: “Well, you’re a stepmother. You’d feel different if he was your own kid.”
If only they’d seen the alacrity with which I put my youngest on the school bus yesterday.
I’m not troubled that we have different perspectives. For every parent who pushes her child out of the nest without hesitation is another who frets over sending her son or daughter into a four-year semi-autonomous existence of meal plans, extensive holiday breaks, resident assistants and care packages. Parenting is nothing if not personal.
What bothers me a great deal, however, are the unspoken assumptions underlying my friends’ remarks. They are assumptions that, however subconscious, give decent, thoughtful people permission to say things they would never dream of saying to a “real” parent. That stepparents don’t really feel connected to their stepchildren. That we are lesser parents by virtue of our prefix. That we cannot have deeply loving and engaged relationships with children to whom we aren’t biologically related. That our stepchildren aren’t our “own.” That given a choice, we’d choose a life without them. Fairy tales have been unkind to us “steps,” even though no one I know is hiding a cache of poisoned apples.
Being a stepparent is different than being a parent, to be sure. Stepparents join families that have fractured in some way, meeting children who already have two parents. We are unsure how our roles will evolve, yet choose to help raise our partners’ children, aware that our lives will involve compromises and traded holidays and complicated family dynamics. Some of us are full-time caregivers, while others pick up the parenting mantle on weekends and holidays. Sometimes we struggle. We’re neither saints nor villains, despite our portrayal in animated classics. I know some stepparents who are biding their time until their stepchildren leave home, and others who have adopted them. We are as varied a group as biological or adoptive or foster parents, with the same strengths and weaknesses. Yet, all too often, stereotypes win out. I understand why it happens, but that doesn’t make it any more palatable.
Being happy as my stepson leaves us for college isn’t a sign of a lack of connection or love. It’s a sign of pride. He’s lived with us full-time for several years, and in that time he has grown into a confident, curious, kind and bright young man ready to take his first steps toward adulthood. I’m thrilled for him and grateful I played a part in preparing him to meet the next stage of his life. I am eager to watch him find himself in the world even though I will miss chatting with him after school and cheering at his lacrosse games. I can celebrate, even though I’ve lost a built-in babysitter and occasional errand runner, because I know he is gaining so much more. I’m also looking forward to reclaiming the mudroom from a pile of giant hightops, but I think that makes me practical, not wicked.
So, when my stepson called home for the first time, I was as eager as my husband to hear about his first week of classes, new friends and complaints about the food. It was just as it should be. Last week, I sent my stepson a care package, because I can take a hint and nothing says love like homemade chocolate chip cookies and a bottle of hot sauce. Try telling me I’m “just a stepmother” now.
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