I always wanted to have a family. I wanted it to be like the families I saw on TV and my friends had. Mom would make dinner. Dad would work. We’d have a big family dinner on Sundays. We’d have cookouts and reunions in the summer. We’d have 2-3 kids, a big dog, a mom and a dad, two cars, a decent brick house and plenty of food and money.
My ideal family was an amalgamation of the Brady Bunch, the Cunninghams from Happy Days, books I read, and neighbors I envied.
My reality was different.
Mom’s side: My grandfather was a drunk. My uncle was a drug addict. My aunt was institutionalized multiple times.
Dad’s side: Dad was bipolar, his mother was an insane bipolar lunatic, his father had issues. Dad left when I was 5 and had no further participation in my life.
My family: Mother worked all the time, abusive stepfather for 10 years, sister who despised me; 23 “siblings”, 3 ex wives, and two friends who my stepfather let live in our house.
When I started dating my future wife, I knew her family wasn’t perfect but it looked pretty good to me.
Her father was a doctor. Her siblings were highly successful professionals. She had what appeared to be two well adjusted kids – a 5 year old boy and a 10 year old girl. She was in the midst of a divorce, but her ex lived 1000s of miles way in another state. She was a doting and loving mother.
I felt like I had hit the lotto – a loving, hot wife and an instant family.
In hindsight, I glossed over a few red flags that were a harbinger of bad things to come.
- Her ex was a heroin addict who had recently gotten “clean” again.
- Her daughter and son had serious emotional and mental issues.
- Her father loved her, but refused to help her financially in any way because he’d been burned by her ex too many times.
Her siblings remained close to her for the rest of her life. They came through for us multiple times – especially during really tough times.
So how did my “instant family” work out?
Not so great.
The ex-husband remained actively involved in the kids lives. He flew into town at least once a month to take them for the weekend. He flew them to his home in Florida for most holidays and all summer long. After they spent time with him, they were a wreck. It would take days or weeks to get them back on an even keel. He would take them to NA Meetings, hang out with his dirtbag friends, go out to eat and stay up all night. He exposed them to his lifestyle of pretense and luxury which was funded by his corrupt business practices. (He sold business opportunities and later penny stocks. He later went to prison for fraud and theft related to his “businesses”).
My stepdaughter found heroin in high school and became an addict. She overdosed and died at age 28 after having dragged herself and our family through a tumultuous decade of mental illness, addiction, relapse and treatment.
My stepson had severe anger issues that have continued to this day. Despite our best efforts to give him a stable loving home life, he gravitated toward drugs, violence and crime. As an adult, he cut us out of his life several times. When his mother was dying, he spent a lot of time with us and I thought we’d repaired our relationship. But I was wrong. A few months after his mother died, he wrote some horrible things in an email to me and said he never wanted to have contact with me again. I haven’t heard from him since.
It wasn’t all bad. I have many fond memories of the family I had and our time together. We had plenty of good times.
I adored my wife and still do. I do not regret the decisions I made to be with her. And that includes doing my best to be a good father to her children.
With the benefit of hindsight, of course there are some things I would do differently. I made plenty of mistakes. Overall though, I think I did a pretty good job as a stepfather, a husband and a provider.
But, wow, as I review the facts, it’s no wonder my family didn’t turn out the way I expected.
Today, I talk to my mother by phone regularly and exchange occasional texts with my sister.
My family is me and the dogs. Surprisingly, I’m rarely sad. I’m rarely lonely. And I don’t feel bad for myself. On the contrary, when I think about my solo life, I feel relief.
I’ve been there – done that. It’s nice to not have to worry about taking care of anyone else.
Someday that could change I suppose. For now, it’s good enough.