Step-family Talk

She sits in her pajamas on the floor of her room, knees tucked up to her chin, arms circled around them and in her hands is the remote for her video game. Downstairs her mother sits in a similar fashion. One leg rests on the floor and the other is tucked up to her chin. Her hand is clenched in a fist as it props up her head, eyes staring out the window. Both are silent. The whole house is silent, for the first time that night. Even the baby is asleep.

I’ve been making my rounds of the house. I know there is some part I’m expected to play here before sleep will come to me. There had been a war in this house earlier this evening and it had been a nasty one. I did my best to make sure everyone saw the red cross I bore, but it didn’t lesson the dangers of shrapnel. My baby boy had been hit by one, at a year old he had been frightened by the screams. I dashed across the neutral zone and swept him from harms way. We waited outside hoping this was just a skirmish and it would all be over soon.

When it became evident that tonight was going to be a full on war, I stepped in, perhaps pushing my status of neutrality, but I had to do something. I put the baby in the car and grabbed mom and took her away. I took her to dinner and gave the two warring sides time to calm down. We ate and we talked and laughed as all the waitresses fawned over the baby.

When we returned, the house was dark, and clean. Our daughter had cleaned up the scattered baby toys and carnage from the war. The baby was exhausted and fell right to sleep. Mom took her position in the chair and I walked up stairs to check on our daughter. I find her on the floor playing her video game.

I sit next to her. I don’t know what to say. She went way out of line tonight, but it’s not my position to lecture. So, I sit and watch her play her game. When the action of the game settles some I thank her for picking up the toys and let her know the house looks nice. I then ask her what happened, hoping she will reflect on some of the choices she made. Instead I get an, “I don’t know.” I say nothing, letting silence fill in the gaps. I wait, giving her an opportunity to speak if she wants and take the time to collect my own thoughts.

My day was full of bad news and topped off by a war at home. My job is on the line, in a month’s time the school at which I work may be gone. People that I’ve worked closely with will soon be gone, and I’ve been asked to be the impetus for that change. The students that I’ve watched struggle to recover from dropping out and some terrible burdens at home may no longer have their last refuge for education. The burden of keeping this school running has been thrust into my hands. The welfare of the staff and students falls upon me, and I don’t know if I’m up to the task. I was taught to educate, not operate an entire school, run a marketing campaign, and become a public relations specialist. I sweep aside these thoughts and tune back in to my daughter as she is talking now.

She tells me her concerns. She feels like her mom treats her like “a piece of crap”. “It’s not fair.” I think back to my day and want to tell her that not being able to use the computer whenever she wants and then getting grounded from the computer because she abused the privilege hardly quantifies as “not fair.” But, I remind myself that she is expressing her feelings and no matter how absurd I think they might be, they are her feelings and my role right now is to just acknowledge them. So, I give her a squeeze on the shoulder and tell her I understand how it feels when you think something isn’t fair. She can tell I’m sincere, and she says no more. Then I ruffle her hair and tell her everything will be all right. I’m not sure if I said it for her or myself. I tell her goodnight and head to my own room and keep my worries to myself. This family has dealt with enough for one night.