Hey Lady, remember me? I’m the gal you treated like the gunk on the bottom of your shoes way back when I was a teenager. How’s it going? I’m absolutely thrilled we’re reconnecting, since there are so many things I’ve wanted to say to you. First, though, let’s take a little walk down memory lane, shall we?
I still remember when we first met, just a few months after my father abruptly left my mother and our family was still reeling. You had a fake Brooklyn accent (“I gawd it frum bein’ wit yoah fawdeh”) and cheesy plastic, bubble gum pink fingernails that glinted in the sun each time you both came to pick me up. You showed me how much you loved my dad by making out with him right in front of me. Boy, those were some fun times. Brandi Glanville and Leann Rimes, whose stepmother drama got me thinking about you in the first place, would have been proud to see you in action.
Now let’s put sarcasm aside, because I have something to say to you, something that is going to surprise the crap out of you, which is this: Thank You. Why the gratitude, you might be wondering? Well, let me tell you.
Before you entered my life, I had taken for granted that a father would always take care of and love his daughter. Before you, I had thought I was safe. Then, everything changed. After you came along, I realized that I was on my own and that the only way I’d make it in the world was if I looked out for myself. After you entered my life I realized that asking for anything from the people who created me, from anyone actually, was a sign I was a mooch or a loser.
Sure, life with you sucked big time. But I got through it. And you know what? Once I got out of your home, I survived. Actually, I kicked ass, in college, in the Peace Corps, and beyond.
But still, I have something to admit. I jumped for joy when I heard that my father had left you. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he realized how nuts you were. When he did, I thought I’d hit the StepMonster lottery. You were gone. The Wicked Witch was dead. Finally, I thought, I get my father back. You have no idea how many other broken-hearted women, those whose fathers had discarded them when the StepMonsters came along, celebrated with me. I guess you could say that I was the envy of abandoned daughters everywhere.
But before I could sneeze, he introduced me to the next woman, rubbing her inner thighs in front of me during dinner. Another insecure woman who thought he walked on water. She reminded me of you, minus the fake accent and nails. This time though, unlike with you, I felt sorry for her, because I knew what was coming. Then I felt sorry for myself, because I realized that the rest of my life would be filled with him rubbing some woman's inner thighs in front of me and telling me, should I dare complain, that I was an ungrateful daughter who didn’t want him to be happy.
So happy holidays, Former StepMonster. You taught me more than I ever wanted to know about life, love, and parenthood. Should our paths ever cross again, let's just keep walking, each in our own direction.
Everyone except my Former Stepmonster can join me on Facebook, where we talk about sex, life, parent-related stuff, and so much more.
[Photo credit: Danilo Rizzuti/FreeDigitalPhotos.net]