Best Friends

My stepmom is #1. Aside from the term of endearment implied in that statement, it is also an inside joke shared between the two of us. You see, we are both stepmoms and for some time we’ve referred to each other (though she started it :)) as “Wicked Stepmother” #1 and #2. We’ve even shortened the term to WSM1 and WSM2, taking the abbreviation yet further in email to just “1” or “2” at times. The “Wicked” moniker is a great icebreaker when introducing myself to my kids’ friends, who seem a bit taken aback at first and then relax, smiling, when they see my wink and corresponding grin.

My stepmom (her name is Ann) is downright funny – I mean hilarious. Her sense of humor and quick wit are unmatched, and conversations with her are NEVER boring or routine. She is always happy to hear from me, whether by phone or the miracle of technology on the Internet called Instant Messaging. Whenever she includes an “emoticon” (one of those animated smiley faces), I can almost “see” her in my mind’s eye in perfect reproduction of what she sent, and I always laugh. Once as a teenager when I was visiting, I arrived at their house in the morning to find her brushing her teeth. She looked up at me with huge eyes, toothpaste foaming from her mouth – and rolled her head just like a zombie from Dawn of the Dead. To use Mastercard’s tagline – PRICELESS. Nearly 30 years later, her gift for spontaneous humor still permeates my behavior towards my own stepkids today.



I’ve never lived with my stepmom. She is in New Jersey and I’ve lived most of my life in St. Louis, nearly 1,000 miles away. But I cannot remember a time when we haven’t been close. My parents were divorced when I was only 2 and my father stayed in New Jersey while my mother moved to St. Louis (with me in tow) to live with her parents. Sometime later, my father married Ann, and I would one day “meet” them both, shortly before my mother’s death in 1980. (After my parents’ divorce, I did not see my father again for another 13 years).

I was a mouthy kid, a serious “back-talker” who didn’t give nearly any adult any respect, mostly because I grew up in a very traditional environment where respect was not given at all but unconditionally demanded – why in the world would I give what I didn’t have? This seemed perfectly rational and justified to me at the time.

I remember when I was 16 and got into a fight with my Dad when I was visiting them. My father was not shy about expressing his true feelings in any matter (what is it with Hungarian temperament?? The same tendency also runs in my undiluted Hungarian blood). My mother had been gone less than one year and I was not doing well emotionally. I was angry at everyone, experiencing unspeakable pain, and taking just about every rebellious detour a teenager could find. My father plainly said I was throwing my life away. In characteristic fashion, I mouthed off to him; he strode up the stairs and – there is no easy way to say it – he beat me up. To be honest I deserved his anger, and to his credit he later apologized and I appreciated it very much. It wasn’t until later I realized that it must’ve been hard for him to say he was sorry, though I thought I was much more at fault for disrespecting him than he was for punishing me.

I remember sitting on my bed that day in the guest room, stunned and wounded by Dad’s outburst, crying and feeling sorry for myself, and WAY too stubborn to admit I was wrong. But the thing that stands out the most was that Ann came into my room and rubbed my face with a warm washcloth. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t judge or heap on her two cents, though she would’ve been justified. She simply embraced and comforted me and it was just the thing I needed. She gave me unmerited favor, or grace, when what I really deserved was justice. It seemed she could see the big picture of my situation altogether, instead of just the fight between Dad and me.

It meant a lot to me because her gesture that day held more significance for me than one may realize. It was a great lesson for me in how to react to my own kids when they take a detour. Steve and I have always treated the kids with love and respect, and we’ve focused on guiding their actions and celebrating their character. My stepdaughter Rachel has said she’s appreciative we talk to her as a “person” (her words). Though they don’t always agree with our decisions, our kids do know in the ocean depths of their hearts that we have their best interests in mind. It is a formidable responsibility given to us by God to raise godly children who become responsible adults as they make their own contributions to society.

We often quarrel with our parents when we’re children (sometimes even as adults), wondering how in the world they come up with their decisions, or how they could seem so “unloving” at the time. We think we infallibly know what is best for ourselves, and we often realize too late what they’ve tried to show us all along.

While I would never have explicitly wished for my parents’ divorce, I would not have come to understand the exceptional gift a stepmother can be if my father had not married Ann. Out of the worst situations, God can bring good; He uses everything – good and bad – to enrich our character. Looking back on my own life, it’s impossible to not see where He’s been at work all along.

Ann has been the biggest influence in my relationship with my own stepkids and I am grateful for her countless examples of how to be a great friend and leader.



WSM2 :)