My relationship with my two stepchildren was formed, largely, in the car. Every morning I would transport Creature 1 and Creature 2 from our home to their school in the next town, maybe a 15-minute trip.
During those rides, with barely-awake ADHD children, conversations were….unpredictable. It’s where I got the idea for Creature Banter, a collection of memorable quotes by and between the children. But it was also a chance for all of us to know each other a bit better, 15 minutes at a time.
When I arrived the Creatures were 12 and 9 and attended different schools. Creature 2 started her school day first, requiring a 7:45 a.m. drop-off. Creature 1 was to be dropped off more than a half-hour later. So Creature 1 and I had time to kill. We weren’t initially as close as I was with Creature 2. Not only is there a fundamental difference in the openness of 9-year-old girl compared to a 12-year-old boy, but they were dealing with their parents’ separation, less than a year in the rear-view mirror.
Naturally, the kids took advantage of an opportunity to be apart from one another for the first time. Creature 1 elected to spend most of his summer with his father, serving as an apprentice of sorts for the family’s seal-coating business. Creature 2 largely resided with her mother and I. But when the school year started, the children needed to be together and the sloppy experiment of co-parenting and timesharing the Creatures commenced. We had the Creatures an average of 3 weekdays initially, but by the time Creature 1 started high school, it was nearly most weekdays.
With that time to kill, there was also an opportunity. What I was figuring out about step-parenting was that you’re not putting your stamp on anything or calling the shots around the care of the children. You take a back seat, you wait a beat before speaking, but most importantly you give the children space for themselves, and access to you. It is that space and what they choose to do with that access is where trust is formed and, hopefully, grows.
So Creature 1 and I had almost 45 minutes to kill each weekday morning and I knew what to do with it. On the first day of school, on the way to the high school, I pulled into George’s, the town diner and said “Big day for you, so we’re gonna make sure you’re awake and alert for it, and start the day with a cup of coffee.”
We sat down, drank our coffee, and talked about high school. Was he nervous? What did he expect? Are his friends in his classes? I shared a couple of high school memories. We didn’t dive in deeply because, well we’re dudes, but this space was his to take or to ignore, without any judgment from me.
The next day, another cup of coffee. Morning coffee quickly became a daily routine. Sometimes we had breakfast. Creature 1 would often order waffles and meticulously fill in each square of his waffle with maple syrup. We became friendly with the waitress, Betsy, who sang in a Pink Floyd tribute band and was starting a family with her boyfriend.
Creature 1, a scientific mind, explained to me dark matter, using empty creamer cups to demonstrate. He would tell me about his weekend with his dad. I heard about the adventures of he and his friends from the weekend. He’d complain about Creature 2 who, just by virtue of still being in elementary school, was irresponsible, immature, and such a child.
It didn’t matter what we talked about. I enjoyed the process of watching his mind work, how he communicated, and marveled at the thought processes of a 12-year-old boy.
Along the way, Creature 1 asked if he could have a milkshake with his breakfast. Now, I should point out that Creature 1 is lactose intolerant, so the very idea of a milk shake should have been out of play. I asked him if he was sure and he said he loved milkshakes and he didn’t mind having digestive and gastrointestinal issues – spending second period in the bathroom was better than spending it in algebra.
I allowed him to have the milkshake as he would be using someone else’s bathroom. He routinely began asking to have a milkshake with breakfast, but to save his gut and my relationship with his mom I made him a deal. “I’ll let you have milkshakes one day a week. Let’s say Monday.”
“Milkshake Mondays,” he said with an approving nod. “I like it.”
So Milkshake Mondays were born and marked an eventful start to each school week for a while. And no two Mondays were alike. One week, I might describe my love of baseball to him. Another week, he would explain another scientific principle that I’d only pretend to follow, as I assume he did during my baseball monologues. All while a vanilla milkshake began colon excavation.
Monday afternoons were marked by damage assessment reports. As 12-year-old boys are want to do, Creature 1 would describe how badly his morning gastrointestinal situation had become, post-milkshake. When it struck, were there cramps, what class or classes did he excuse himself from, and of course descriptions about the wretched conditions to which the school’s toilet was subject.
Breakfast with coffee became more frequent and, I should mention, the milkshakes were in addition to his java. Because this was a daily routine, and because he was making money I wanted to flip the script a bit. I announced Freeloader Fridays. The idea was simple – I would pay for coffee, milkshakes, breakfast – whatever his heart and stomach desired four days a week. But on Friday he paid.
Freeloader Fridays, I would find out, curbed the appetite of a 12-year-old boy. It was coffee only on Fridays from that moment on.
The joy of George’s didn’t last forever. I began working far from home, so I would have to leave too early to do the drop-offs. Eventually, the Creatures went to the same school and Creature 1 began driving. But Weekdays at George’s, for a little while at least, filled that space and I hope resulted in a little trust along the way.