The Jack-in-the-Box

Here’s the thing, the first time you meet your significant other’s kids feels like, well, like you’re cranking one of those Jack-in-the-Box toys with the scary clown that pops up and scares the shit out of you. Clowns scare me, but that’s a whole other story. It’s like you’ve been cranking this toy for a year and at any minute something is going to pop up and jump out at you. It can either punch you in the face or hug you. You have no idea until it jumps out.

In my case I had some warning that I could get figuratively punched. The Captain told me that the girl child wanted nothing to do with me, that she didn’t want to meet me for dinner, and that she was going to bring a book with her so she wouldn’t have to talk to me.

Now, I like a good challenge. Plus, I think, and I’ve been told by those who like to spend time with me, that I’m a good person. They, the people who I mentioned above, say I’m nice, kind and funny. They say I’m easy to be around. How could she not like me? Ah, such a novice. What I have learned, after years of therapy to help me maneuver through these unchartered stepmother waters, is that it actually doesn’t have anything to do with me. She doesn’t like the idea of me. So, how do I move through that?

Okay, back to the first meeting. The Captain and the kids met me for pizza (neutral territory). I can’t even put into words how nervous I was. I kept thinking if the kids don’t like me, I’m sunk. Why would the Captain stay with someone who his kids didn’t want to be around? My future, the future with my person, was riding on this meeting…or so I thought.

I got there early (to locate all of the exits in case of an emergency), took some Imodium, and sat and waited. They came in. I was introduced, the boy child was nervous, but we had met briefly once before. The girl child didn’t look up, sat down, and I think she said, “Hey.” I didn’t blame her. I wasn’t her mother, her family unit was torn apart, she was sad and angry, and the idea of her dad having a significant other meant that the chances of her parents getting back together were getting slimmer by the day.

I nervously tried to make conversation. She would respond back, eyes down, with, “Uh huh.” I saw she was reading the book The Hunger Games. I thought to myself, “Oh, you got this.” Being an avid People magazine reader for decades (don’t judge, it’s my thing), I knew all about this movie. Being a daily Seattle Times reader, I also knew the stars of the movie were doing an appearance at a local shopping mall that week. So, I started talking about the stars, who was dating who, surprises I heard about the movie, and that they were going to in Seattle that week. She responded, looked up, and we chatted about the movie. We didn’t talk about anything deep. I didn’t ask her about school, her hobbies, the usual questions adults bombard kids with. My Imodium kicked in, my stomach settled, and the girl child and I talked for about ten minutes.

I think we all stayed there at the restaurant for maybe 40 minutes, but it was enough. I had made some sort of contact. With that meeting, we had set the groundwork for whatever would come next.

Looking back at it now, all these years later, I think she probably looked at me as the unknown Jack-in-the-Box, just as I had looked at her.