When I was a teenager, my family lived "the dream" or so it would have looked from the outside. We lived in a rural area and of the places that existed at that time, I suppose our home was considered to be pretty nice. We lived on a lake in a brick raised rancher, so it was both quaint (from the front) and huge (from the back). I also got to reap the benefits of having a stepfather who's main motto in life was "he who has the most toys when he dies - WINS". At a very young age, I was introduced to toys for big boys (AKA tools with which teen aged girls could attract said big boys - as I soon learned). I had (and by had, I mean I could use at my discretion) stuff that ran the gambit: a dirt bike, my own snowmobile, a boat, a Honda Big Red (dating myself here) which was actually a trike for those who are unfamiliar. As well, a myriad of accessories like water skies, cross country skies, satellite dish (long before anyone had heard of such a thing on a private residence) a VCR before ANYONE I knew had a clue what that was and one of the very first models of a projection big screen TV - 55" from corner to corner (still have it, in fact) ... well, you get the picture - I was, for all intents and purposes spoiled rotten. (At least if you were looking in from the outside.)
The moral of my paragraph (I think) was that I had a lot of 'guy friends' and I guess I was spoiled too. It didn't hurt that I essentially looked like this (though I am 19 in this photo) . (I will point out the absence of a current photo, since I obviously do not resemble this exactly these days ... my middle age spread started early and ran long ...)
Hard to imagine such an innocent face being capable of such heinous acts ..
My stepfather was a trip and a half. It was more like having a really annoying older brother that had a propensity for smacking me around a
little lot. I don't mean to misrepresent the circumstances ... this was precisely the same as sibling rivalry although I never smacked back and ultimately he had way more power than I did. Still. This was the relationship. We vied for Mom's attention - good and bad. We fought like brother and sister.
I used to make my dish water hotter than any human being could possibly stand it - just in the hope that he would walk by and stick his greasy fucking mitts in my clean dish water (as he was oh so prone to do) and thus burn his stupid skin off. At which point, I would inevitably get into a pile of shit - head first and ankle deep. My point was that he should not be utilizing a sink full of dishes as his personal bath tub and to keep his hands the fuck out!! (To be clear, I was not allowed to say fuck, but he used it enough for both of us - so it was all good). My mom would usually agree with me and he would stomp off like a big baby - plotting his revenge, and I would be left washing dishes in water that was still hot enough to melt glass. Worth it. This stunt worked until the day Mom was the one who stuck her hands in my dish water. Then the jig was up. Was good while it lasted.
I still use very hot water when I have to wash dishes. (I hate scrubbing stuff, so the hotter it is, the less physical labour is required) Mom stuck her hands in my dish water two nights ago ... and reminded me of this story and my passive aggressive tenancies as a teen. I guess these tools are acquired young. I am the Queen of the Island of Passive Aggression. I really don't know if I have any other defense mechanism - other than maybe humour ... but there's a pile of room for passive agression within the bounds of humour - so I guess that doesn't really count. I realized while I was thinking about sharing this silly story that I have thousands more of them.
Like the time my ex 'father in common law' told me to "go on inside there and whip us up some lunch like a good girl" and subsequently, when I made his hot dogs ... well let's just say that his dogs were rolled on the floor of a back wood cabin, rubbed along the port-a-potty rim and marinated in hoark ... that's hoark - you know what I'm talking about, don't pretend you don't. (My husband would shudder to hear this story - not his dad, just a spitting girl would gross him right out) Or the toothbrush story I shared about my cousin ... I'm starting to realize just how bad I really am. BTW - I didn't feel anything but pleased with myself as he scarfed down the three hot dogs I had so carefully prepared for him. Just sat there with a smug grin on my face.
I guess the only place I have to go from here is to aggressive-aggressive ... I'm thinking that would result in some media coverage.
Wow! Talk about 'streaming thought'. My goal for this post was to give some back ground on my step father and our relationship. When I moved out on my own (at the ripe ol' age of 17) our relationship mellowed into a "Jerry/Newman" understanding. Indifference would best describe us, I suppose. This is important for a post I am working on for next month.