Eighteen years ago today my mother married my stepfather, Bill. I was ten years old - yes, that makes me 28. Interestingly, the age my mother was when they wed.
It was really hard for us at first, and honestly it was hard for us the whole eight years I lived with them, but I have some reflections I'd like to make.
Bill willingly took on a 28-year-old woman and her 10-year-old daughter. I wasn't born to him. He didn't have to accept the challenge of raising me. He wasn't obligated by duty, or responsibility. But he chose to be my father.
To me that means so much more than a man who is bound to me by blood. Bill is bound to me by heart. I have so much respect for that decision alone, but my respect for him is compounded by the amount of time, effort, and energy he put into raising me. Granted, he may not have always chosen the best strategies, but what parent gets it right every time.
I know he still beats himself up for the ways he handled some challenges, but it isn't like he had ten years to prepare for adolescence and build a relationship with me. I think his situation was particularly challenging and diffcult and I, in retrospect from an adult perspective, think he did an admirable job.
And my poor mother. Always torn between her husband and daughter. As an adult, I now know this is actually a very normal situation for mothers of daughters to be in during the teen years. I've seen it time and time again around me. It's nice to know that my family wasn't disfunctional afterall.
My mother was so young when I was born. It really freaks me out to know that I could have a ten-year-old at my age. I have so much respect for her. She sacrificed and worked so hard to provide a secure, loving home for me.
I'm reflecting on their marriage, though. I'll have to do a mom-centric post another time.
Ten years out of their home, it's still *home*. I walk in and feel instantly more peaceful and at ease. I miss being there, I miss my room, I miss my parents.
Ten years out of their home, I'm an adult with views and beliefs - most of which are shared with them.
Ten years out of their home, I'm a mother. And I feel the overwhelming love and frustration of parenting a little person with a mind and heart of their own.
Ten years out of their home, I'm a wife, a college graduate, a teacher, a Christian, a homemaker, and a conservative.
Ten years out of their home, I'm thankful. For the long days and long nights with me, with each other. I'm thankful because I like who I am, and I know that who I am is directly correlated with who they are - as individuals and as a couple. I'm proud to be Mom's daughter, and I'm proud to be Bill's daughter. I like to think they're proud to claim me.
I love them so much more, each year, as I learn more about life and families and children and marriage.
This is a poorly written attempt at putting what I feel about my parents into a few short sentences.
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