I’m standing outside Thomas Middle School, talking to Michelle. She’s the mom of twins in Jack’s first grade class, and Jack’s going to their birthday party tomorrow. Jack’s dad will be taking him to the party, I’ll be picking him up.
The kids are lined up with bagels and backpacks. It’s been eight years since my daughter was a first grader. I always enjoyed the school drop off when Alani was little, and now I sometimes get to do it again, with Jack.
Michelle does not recoil when I iintroduce myself as Jack’s stepfather. I like that. Some people are uncertain how to proceed once I admit I’m an imposter stepfather. She doesn’t bat an eye, and introduces me to the real dads in the group as Jack’s stepdad.
‘”So you’re picking up. . .”? she asks.
I nod. “Dad’s bringing. Stepdad’s picking up.” It can be confusing.
Rachel arrives at the schoolyard. She hugs Jack and comes over to our group. Michelle already knows her, and says hello.
“I was just talking to your. . .” Michelle starts to say, and hesitates.
I know exactly what happened: Her brain is trying to figure out what my title is. For just a moment, it wondered whether she should refer to me as “your stephusband”. But it’s just a second.
“. . . husband.” she finishes.
That’s correct. There is no such thing as a stephusband.
