How I Met My Stepdad

healthwellnessyogameditationmindfulnesshealingSelf-Improvement

Jul 1

"Unconditional love really exists in each of us. It is part of our deep inner being. It is not so much an active emotion as a state of being. It's not 'I love you' for this or that reason, not 'I love you if you love me.' It's love for no reason, love without an object."
-Ram Dass

Episode 51.

Westwood Racquetball Club, Westwood, NJ, 1989.

The reverberation-boing of the blue rubber ball echoed within the court's two-story white walls. Frank grabbed the ball off a bounce and pegged it hard at Tony, skimming his calf and bringing Tony down to the glossy parquet floor, in brotherly fashion. I took this opportunity to sprint to the rolling ball, clutching it before Frank could pivot and chase me down. I threw the ball at the far back wall, ignoring the echoed shouts from Tony to "get Frank", clearly meaning peg the ball at his brother.

This whirlwind of high speed "wallball" persisted until the heavy wooden door opened to Christine, Frank and Tony's mom, in her white collared "Westwood Racquetball Club" embroidered shirt. "Kids, out of here- we need the court".

Frank, Tony, and I reluctantly obeyed, and raced each other out to the common area, each flopping down on the outdated 1970's rust orange cushioned chairs, eyes directed to "The Price is Right", airing on the 13" Panasonic rabbit-ear antennae clad television. It was the first day of February school vacation, and at 11:37am, we had already put our competitive paces to the test, grappling in every head-to head physical-challenge feat we had in our inventory.

Within 30 seconds, Christine was back in view, saying, "Jess, there is somebody who wants to say hi to you. He is up in the nursery with Lindsey."

The nursery at Westwood Racquetball Club was one of the most comfortable, familiar spaces of my 11 years to date. The room was probably only 12'x 14', but it had enough toys to fill a basketball court. The walls were lined with built-in wooden toy chests, housing Legos, mismatched card games, plastic farm animals, baby chew toys, and a gazillion smooth wooden building blocks, utilized for virtually every activity played on the low-pile royal blue carpet. My younger sister, Lindsey, and I had been dropped off in the safe space of this nursery countless times since birth, as our Mom and Dad played their Friday night racquetball games with Lucille and Vince, before they decided to double down with dinner at the Iron Horse, when the next-door neighbor twins, Kerri and Tara, were old enough to function as "mature" pre-teen babysitters, entrusted with their 4- and 7- year old daughters.

The secure refuge of the nursery evoked minimal appeal in this moment of actually meeting "him"... the man my mom was...dating.
Dating.
Gross.
Despicable.
Enraging.

The smile that had been shining through my copper colored eyes immediately retracted to a frown, perhaps even a defiant pout, preparing to protest to Christine, who was like a second mother to me; the best friend of my mom since Frank and I were born at Pascack Valley Hospital, one day apart (I am older and will never let him forget it). Christine was more than familiar with my emotional response and distaste for even a hint of my mom with another man, but seemingly with little empathy in this moment, as she sighed and said, "Jess, he is a great guy. He works upstairs in the Nautilus room and he is a gym teacher. Can't you give him a chance? For your mom?"

I shook my head violently, as Tony leaped up, "I want to see Vee- he had that Tango soccer ball, remember, Frank?" Tony's excitement about this guy, Vee, did nothing to move me from my cross-legged position on the chair, now bordering on obstinate.

Every time I was faced with the fact that my mom was "available" to date, I was confronted with the agonizing reality that my dad was dead. It had been less than two years since that November day in 1988. He was perfectly fine; coaching my soccer team, eating Cheerios for breakfast every morning, video taping my swim meets with his oversized RCA VHS Camcorder, and running out to the hardware store, always making an extra stop for our favorite Entenmann's Crumb Coffee Cake.

And then one Saturday, he was gone. He just died. Suddenly. Immediately. Without a warning. A heart attack with blockage in a critical artery, nicknamed "the widowmaker".

My 10-year old world was shattered and confused, and I grasped at some semblance of normalcy; clung to some survival state of denying that I had been hurdled into an unpredictable existence where the world was no longer safe, and I could no longer trust that things were ok, and where the hero in my world was never coming back.

So, this person who wanted to say hi to me, sitting up in MY safe haven of the racquetball club nursery, was just a harsh reality slap of reminder that my dad was not here. That I was different from all the other kids in the 6th grade. That my mom would sigh and her eye would twitch. That my sister got bad stomach aches. That we were a family of 3 and not 4. That there was only one car in the garage. That sometimes when my mom asked me to set the table, she mistakenly took out 4 plates from the cabinet. That we no longer had the strength of my dad's hands to pitch tents or fix things, or tuck us in. That he was dead. That there was a distinct before and after; and that this after could include "another man".

With another pleading look from Christine, I peeled myself slowly from my seat and walked tortuously up the flight of stairs, past the front desk, down the narrow hallway, and stood in the doorway of the nursery. He was sitting on the floor while Lindsey focused intently on building Brio train tracks, Tony in the background, throwing an oversized ball against a one-way glass window.
He looked up and smiled.
Vee.

I didn't smile back.
I just stood there.

... To be continued...

(spoiler alert... Vee is my HERO)

“Family isn’t defined only by last names or by blood; it’s defined by commitment and by love. It means showing up when we need it most. It means having each other’s backs. It means choosing to love each other, no matter what. That is Family.”