Humble Pie

Humble Pie

In my early years of being a stepmother—or “stepmonster,” as my middle stepchild Nick fondly calls me—each day presented new challenges to fulfilling the recommended daily allowance of what the LORD requires, according to the never-old Old Testament prophet Micah (6:8):

Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God.

Doing justice came easily to me as I entered my husband’s household of three nearly-adult children and we merged my two dogs with his boxer. Everybody had their own space, routine, and responsibilities. Where our spaces, routines, and responsibilities overlapped, chores were assigned so that each of us contributed to the smooth running of a clean and organized abode.

I soon stepped into the role of law-enforcement officer. I had always wanted to be a cop, from when I had watched as a teenager the movie “Serpico,” and I was prepared not only “to protect and to serve” but also to ferret out corruption from within the rank and file. Thus cash in return for extra tasks was not doled out until the tasks were finished in a timely manner and to my satisfaction—and I knew perfectly well that the money was paying for cigarettes that were not allowed in the house.

Like Goldilocks’s encounter with the three bears—what was she doing breaking into their home anyway?!—the doing justice came perhaps too easily, while the loving kindness was, at times, hard to come by. Little did I appreciate that walking humbly would help make things “just right.”

One by one, my stepchildren flew the coop, leaving me and my husband with the three dogs to patrol. The eldest (stepchild, that is) got married and started a career; the youngest finished high school and was bound for college; while the middle child, the aforementioned Nick, moved into his own apartment—two doors down the street from us. Now he had his own place to keep, however he wished; his own routine, if you could call playing video games into the wee hours and sleeping until noon a routine; and his own responsibilities, whatever he felt needed doing—or not.

This did not, however, prevent his new world from overlapping our world. One night, when I was home alone (my husband and youngest stepchild were away on a post-graduation road trip), I was awakened by the sound of firecrackers, the high-caliber kind not allowed in the state of Minnesota but readily obtained in the nearby state of Wisconsin. The screeching flares, loud pop-pop-pops, and awful bangs wrecked my sleep and caused the dogs to go ballistic.

I got up and went outside to see where this obnoxious activity was coming from. Not surprising, two doors away, Nick and his buddies were going at it full blast. So I went home, called the police, and reported illegal fireworks at Nick’s address. The police came by and quietened the situation, but my nerves stayed awake until the early hours of the morning when I let the dogs outside to do their duty.

Angry and tired after having my night ruined, which meant the whole rest of the day would be a waste, I plotted my revenge. The dogs provided me with ammunition: I bagged up their fresh poop and, in the dawn’s early light, I went over to Nick’s place and put the dog-doo on the front-door mat where it was sure to get stepped in.

Only it didn’t stay there. After going home, making some coffee, and mulling over the situation, I felt bad—bad enough to go back and remove the excrement from Nick’s doormat. As much as I relished justice, I didn’t want to end up in deep doo-doo with my stepson.

Over the dozen years since, I’ve experienced, especially as a stepmother, that doing justice and loving kindness and walking humbly are not three different tasks but actually one and the same.

Recently, Nick emailed me:

“I am definitely your stepson.

Last night I called the police because some kids a couple of houses away were lighting off firecrackers. They started at 10:30 p.m. last night, and at 1 a.m. the previous morning. The fireworks interrupted my sleep/medicine schedule. They also upset Ruby. I called and 10 minutes later the cops did a drive-by.

I feel like I am officially an adult where I would rather call the cops and ruin someone's fun than sacrifice my sleep and my dog's well-being. Thank you for teaching me the values of adulthood.
Love, Nick”