I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve always had a significant level of expectation I was set to meet. My three younger sisters and I were raised by a single mother — and I mean a single mother who never saw one red cent of child support (or alimony) from, or had one millisecond of shared custody with, our biological father. My mother worked 100+ hour workweeks at a barely-over-minimum-wage-paying-job to keep us housed and fed.  As the eldest of their four daughters, a lot of the child-rearing and domestic household responsibilities ultimately ended up falling on my shoulders at the tender age of 10. I cooked, cleaned, packed lunches, got my younger sisters off to school and dayhome, and did so without once complaining, knowing how sincerely my mom needed me to step up. Some would lament (and have certainly expressed their disapproval) at the injustice for a young child to have so much responsibility. I would reply (and certainly have continued to reply very emphatically) with a belief I maintain to this day: kids are a lot more capable of a lot more things than their parents commonly give them credit for. 

I have a memory of being in grade 5 — I think I was 10 or 11 years old –and going for a visit to a friend’s house after school. Her family was (looking back as an adult, I can confirm) very wealthy. The first time I stepped foot in her home, I’m sure my eyeballs basically fell out of my head and rolled across her marble floors. The bottom-floor apartment I shared with my family was, in its entirety, smaller than just one of her living rooms. Fine art and sculptures were tastefully placed among her exquisite furniture. Her dishes all matched – and they were really pretty. She and each of her siblings had ther own bedroom — and bathroom. I was positive her parents must’ve been movie stars. We spent the evening playing outside in her back yard. It was a muddy spring day, so we ended up with muddy clothing and needed to change (you don’t track mud into a house like that!) Dutifully, I collected our soiled outfits after we dressed in clean clothes, and I asked her to direct me to the washing machine so I could do a load of laundry.

She answered, “Oh? Uhh… I can show you to the laundry room I guess. But my mom isn’t home to turn it on.”

…

“You mean, you don’t know how to wash your own clothes?!” I gasped. I couldn’t believe my ears.

In an effort to save money on the coin-operated shared laundry in our apartment building, my mother used to rock an old top-loading washing machine back and forth from its storage spot in our dining room, into our “laundry room,” aka our very small galley kitchen. The water supply would be connected to the faucet and the basin would drain into the same sink we’d wash our dishes in. For many years of my childhood, my humble hand-me-down wardrobe was regularly washed in the same place that I learned to prepare inexpensive meals for my family. (Truthfully, I liked laundry day. It was a legitimate excuse to be able to leave the dishes on the counter since the sink was in use!) Surely this girl who lived in luxury, who had a designated room just for doing laundry, who had appliances that looked like spaceships, couldn’t be serious about not having the know-how to perform such a routine duty?! But she truly had no idea. (I taught her, if you’re wondering).

Why the history lesson, you ask? Simply because knowing where I come from completely shapes my views on entitlement issues in our upcoming generation.

Someone once told me about a time their 7-year old Stepchild threw an epic fit was at the movie theater. Following the movie, he demanded $20 to play in the arcade (as this was apparently his right in life), to which he was told, “not today buddy.” Being told No evoked a meltdown of epic proportions. He began screaming bloody murder, swinging/kicking/thrashing wildly at his dad, (who between movie tickets and snacks had probably spent close to $100), and weeping inconsolably. When they drove home following this outburst, the boy was wailing the entire 25 minute drive home about how unfortunate he was, moaning at how much he hated his life and everyone in it, and pitying himself to the fact he was never was given anything.

Now, upon hearing this story, I expected there to be some kind of repercussions for this behaviour; perhaps no more privileges like movies for a while, or no more arcade until his sense of gratitude was restored, or no video games for a couple of weeks, or that he had to donate his favourite toy to the Salvation Army — something that would teach this boy his behaviour was completely inappropriate and that he is more fortunate than so, so, so, so many other people in this world, so he should try to be a little more appreciative. Boy, was I wrong. The cherry on top of this meltdown was that later that evening, the father decided it an appropriate time to gift his son with an expensive video game console he’d been asking about getting.

You can’t make this stuff up.

From the outside looking in, hearing about an upper-middle-class boy, who was given absolutely everything he’d ever wanted (and much, much more), be rewarded for that kind of completely unacceptable behaviour — well — I didn’t like it. I took it to heart that while so many children dream of being as fortunate as this boy is, so many mothers are breaking their backs just to provide a roof over their children’s heads, so many people around the world are actually starving — that the only solution this Father could think of was to reward spoiled with more spoiling.

That said, I have read endless articles and on the psychology of The Disneyland Dad. I can understand on a human level why this little boy’s Dad would feel guilt that he and the boy’s mother were no longer a couple – but let’s be honest. This behaviour was nothing new, this entitlement had not begun post divorce.

But the most important thing that I’ve realized has been this: just because I grew up below the poverty line doesn’t mean that kids who are given things are bad.

I want to repeat that. Kids who are given things are not bad. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Speaking from experience, I believe our anger is misdirected towards our Stepchildren. Sure, some of them may be spoiled — but are they really to blame for being ungrateful? When the only life you know is the one which you are provided, then who is culpable for your provision? And is it really so bad that our Stepchildren are granted opportunities, childhood joys, and affection from parents who love them deeply?

As an adult, I strive to be successful and financially secure. As a parent, now, I hope to offer my son a chance at prosperous life without him having to claw his way there. Why did I, then, condemn this specific child for having a successful and wealthy parentage? Why was I being so hypocritical?

Why do Stepmothers feel their blood boil when their Stepchildren complain about how disgusting their healthy, home-cooked meals taste? Why do we feel ourselves fill with anger when they can’t be bothered to clear their plates or load them in the dishwasher? Why do we resent our Stepchildren’s bountiful Christmas mornings, looking upon them with disdain as they open present after present after present, casting them each aside in anticipation of what the next ripped-open wrapping paper would reveal (instead of being truly grateful for what was in front of them)? Why do we roll our eyes when they request having the crusts cut off their sandwich bread? Why do these young beings and their sense of entitlement rip us apart from the inside out?

Are we akin to the wolves — fierce predators who pick off the weakest prey? Certainly it’s easier to dislike our stepchildren than it is to confront our husbands about the entitlement issues they are breeding.

I can’t say I don’t understand. My own Stepson and I come from completely opposite sides of the tracks.

But what are the solutions? And how do we deal with entitlement issues in our up-and-coming generation?

Click here to read the strategies we use in our own home to combat the Gimme-Gimme’s.

Have you ever struggled with feelings such as these with your stepchildren? What are your experiences with kids who have a sense of entitlement? How does this compare to your childhood? What morals and values are important to you as a stepmother? As a wife? As a person? As Stepqueens, we are committed to ending negative Stepmother associations. How have you recently risen above the Stepmonster label? Comment below with your thoughts, or feel free to drop me a line!