After the divorce can my stepson still be my friend?
by Deborah Gaines
I met my future stepson on a hot summer day outside the playground at Brooklyn's Prospect Park. Aaron was 6 years old and soaking wet from the sprinklers, his Tasmanian Devil T-shirt plastered to his skinny back.
"Dad says I don't have to talk to you" were his first words.
I stifled the urge to run. Instead, I introduced him to my 2-year-old daughter, Lila, who stared up at him in awe.
Without breaking eye contact, he took her juice box, crushed it in his hand, and dropped it on the ground. Then he turned to his father. "Can we go?"
So much for meeting cute.
Tom and I moved in together three months later, but it took four years, five therapists and another baby to turn us into a family. I remember the turning points: the day 8-year-old Aaron knocked down a boy who had pushed Lila in the McDonald's play area. The first time I helped him study for a test and, later, saw the triumph in his eyes when he got an A. As the years passed, the bonds strengthened. Lila, whose father had abandoned her when she was 2, started calling her stepfather "Daddy."
The older kids banded together to torment their little brother but defended him with fists and kickboards when he was bullied at the town pool. We survived learning disabilities, braces, bad grades and annoying questions about our different last names.
But as our family unit grew stronger, the marriage began to weaken. Maybe Tom and I gave so much to the children that we had nothing left for each other. When job loss, financial instability and health problems were added to the burden, it became too heavy to bear.
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by Deborah Gaines
I met my future stepson on a hot summer day outside the playground at Brooklyn's Prospect Park. Aaron was 6 years old and soaking wet from the sprinklers, his Tasmanian Devil T-shirt plastered to his skinny back.
"Dad says I don't have to talk to you" were his first words.
I stifled the urge to run. Instead, I introduced him to my 2-year-old daughter, Lila, who stared up at him in awe.Without breaking eye contact, he took her juice box, crushed it in his hand, and dropped it on the ground. Then he turned to his father. "Can we go?"
So much for meeting cute.
Tom and I moved in together three months later, but it took four years, five therapists and another baby to turn us into a family. I remember the turning points: the day 8-year-old Aaron knocked down a boy who had pushed Lila in the McDonald's play area. The first time I helped him study for a test and, later, saw the triumph in his eyes when he got an A. As the years passed, the bonds strengthened. Lila, whose father had abandoned her when she was 2, started calling her stepfather "Daddy."
The older kids banded together to torment their little brother but defended him with fists and kickboards when he was bullied at the town pool. We survived learning disabilities, braces, bad grades and annoying questions about our different last names.
But as our family unit grew stronger, the marriage began to weaken. Maybe Tom and I gave so much to the children that we had nothing left for each other. When job loss, financial instability and health problems were added to the burden, it became too heavy to bear.
Read more:
