The first time I met my stepmother, Nancy, my two younger brothers and I thought it would be funny to bring along a whoopee cushion. The plan for the evening involved dinner and a movie. We raced ahead of the adults to find seats in the theater, and before she sat down in the half-darkness, we slipped the cushion onto her seat.

I looked straight ahead at the screen as she entered our aisle, trying to act as normal as possible and not crack an evil grin. It couldn’t have been more perfect. She had no idea. She hadn’t seen us blow up or plant the giant pink plastic farting toy on her seat, and she sat down hard. The sound echoed through the theater, and my brothers and I laughed our little heads off.

Though we all thought it was hilarious and it helped break some of the tension, the truth was, we were scared of her and it made us feel as if we could exert some power in a situation in which we had none. She describes that day from her perspective. “I clearly remember my own feelings of anxiety, and even terror. I may have revisionist memories, but I vaguely remember seeing the whoopee cushion before sitting on it.

I wanted to go along with the gag. I thought it was endearing for you to do some thing, even something mischievous, to welcome me. Something naughty was better than nothing at all. A laugh was better than silence.” I waited a month to meet Arne’s kids, and I wanted to meet them so they became real to me, instead of being just the idea that “Arne has three kids.” I was terrified when I drove up to the suburban house where they lived.

Related posts:

1. What Stepmother actually is?
2. What Stepmother actually is? Part (3)
3. What Stepmother actually is? Part (4)