E is my fake kid

I just got this note from Katie:

BTW, this morning E told me that even though C is your “real” kid and he isn’t, he’s pretty sure you love him as much as you love C. I told him that he is right

Obviously, Katie gave the right response. I only wish E spent more time at our house rather than the schedule of alternating weeks necessity has created.

But E’s remark got me thinking in a different direction: there is an oddity in life that to E’s cousins, who have known me just as long as E has, I am “Uncle” Jon. But to E, I am just Jon. My nieces and nephews refer to me with more respect, if that is the right word, than the kids in my house. To my nieces and nephews, I have a title and a place. To H, J, and E, I am Jon.

It’s not that stepparenting is a new thing, either. I am sure it used to be quite common when life expectancies were much shorter. I am sure that everyone in Jane Austen’s day knew someone who had remarried after losing a spouse. Then there are those so-called step-dads who became “dad” at some point. But E already has a dad. And he certainly can’t call me “Step-Dad” instead of Jon, as in “Hey Step-Dad, can I watch some tv?”

I guess there’s no solution. There just isn’t a good term for what I am. I am more than Step-Dad and more than Jon.

I guess if I am lucky, and I do my job right, “Jon,” too, will mean more than “Jon.”