Personal Essay: The Stepfather
Was I Dad or just a stand-in?
by Kevin Keck
June 15, 2009
Plus, the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of possibly being involved for the long haul with someone who had a child. It seemed a better fit for me than fathering a child of my own. I feared passing on the plague of anxiety and depression
that has haunted me my whole life and which afflicts nearly all of my relatives. As I saw it, being a stepfather was very much like Obi Wan Kenobi mentoring Luke Skywalker and teaching him the ways of the Force. After all, Gavyn had a dad already — that guy
could handle the father business. I would be Gavyn's cool, older buddy.
And perhaps that arrangement would have worked had Patrice and I simply dated and lived separate lives otherwise. But within two months of appearing in my world, Patrice and Gavyn settled into my apartment, Gavyn's dad moved twelve hours away, and I was
suddenly thrust into a very strange position: the role of the Father Figure. I'd spent my entire life trying to master the part of the Disappointing Son (and I'd been doing a splendid job in that role, if I may say so myself). After a few more months of living
together, Patrice let it be known that I needed to get serious or move along. And for reasons that are not entirely clear to me, I got serious.
I literally made the decision to marry Patrice in about five minutes, got a ring that same afternoon, and proposed that night. Two things stand out about my proposal in retrospect: I am apparently quite impatient; also, I found I really couldn't let Gavyn
down.
So much for
playing on the edge of fatherhood; I was being pushed in the deep end.
I was and I still remain in love with his mother, but I've been as deep in love with other women as I was with Patrice and I never married them. The difference was that, while my relationship with Patrice was growing, there was a second relationship taking
root that was undetected by my emotional defenses. Gavyn's father had all but abandoned him, returning to his own pre-marriage utopia of surfing and fishing. He let the occasional phone call drift in so that he didn't become a total stranger, but otherwise
he was out of the picture.
I wanted to take care of Gavyn and his mother. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Which is all quite laughable now. Not only was my thinking terribly chauvinistic, I believe I have already detailed the many variables in my life that made me incompatible with stability. However, Patrice's income was plenty to provide for her and Gavyn,
and I made enough to keep a roof over our heads, so we were in good shape. Except that Patrice was quite forgetful about taking the pill, especially after a few glasses of wine, and within a month of our nuptials she was pregnant with twin girls. So much for
playing on the edge of fatherhood; I was being pushed in the deep end.
To my credit, I have managed to swim more often than I've sunk, but the twins are two now and they are accumulating more words every day, and the word they are constantly saying to me is, of course, "Daddy." It melts my cynicism entirely when they say it.
Who knew that one word could have such power?
But when my family is gathered around the dinner table, it feels as though the four people with whom I live are divided into two camps: those who know me as Daddy, and those who call me Kevin. I worry that Gavyn will feel our relationship is somehow lesser
because he and the girls use different nomenclature for me, a sign that defines the levels of intimacy between us.
However, I don't believe in forcing a child to refer to anyone by a specific name unless it's a matter of manners. That seems quite a bit different than my situation. I don't want to issue a dictum that I should be called "Dad" if I haven't earned the title.
©2009 Kevin Keck and Babble
About the Author
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Kevin Keck is the author of the memoir Are You There God? It's Me. Kevin., and a collection of personal essays, Oedipus Wrecked. Visit him at www.thekeck.com.
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