by Zibby Owens
Though I loathe the prevalence of screens in our modern times, I try not to censor what my kids watch too much. That may seem like a contradiction, but I believe there’s a danger—a loss of opportunity for independence, individuality, exposure, and identity formation—when we control our children’s life experiences to the letter. But as I sat there wanting to protect their minds from this toxicity, it occurred to me that I don’t contribute to their film-watching experiences nearly enough. Frankly, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. And I’m in the business.
There is so much content out there today—for us, for them—I have all but opted out. I was never much of a film and television consumer even before the content explosion of the early 2010s, but since? You can forget it. I manage one or two seasons of one or two shows a year. I probably squeak in half a dozen to a dozen films a year. As it is, I am so stretched with life and all of its constant demands that watching content takes a back seat; I treat it as something utterly unimportant.
Watching the Oscars this year, the previous few weeks really congealed inside of me. I was struck by how magical that night alone in the theater watching Little Women really was for me. Greta Gerwig had swept me away and left me feeling connected to the energy of every living thing—to womanhood and sisterhood, to destiny, delight, and devastation. Walking out of the theater and for the next twenty-four hours, every cell in my body was trembling with the thrill of being alive. I was struck by how acutely I had received the messages from my seemingly harmless childhood films filled with bare-chested, scantily clad women on the arms of arrogant, selfish, and cheeky men. They had stained me. They had told me what was acceptable, what was to be tolerated and what was funny. They were wrong. And I was struck by my duty to my sons: to do better by them than society had done by me. I connected to the awesome power I have as a mother to introduce art to my kids that would make them feel how I felt that night walking out of Little Women. I could not only usher them into a higher level of pleasure, but also help protect them from being blindly misshapen.
I contribute to this modern world of story-telling. As a writer, I tell stories I want my children to hear. As an actress, can I say as much? Truth be told, I don’t think of my children when I choose the films I will participate in. I make decisions based mainly on the stories that I respond to somewhere deep inside. The little girl in me chose The Hobbit because thirteen-year-old Evangeline spent many a night fantasizing about being a woodland elf after reading Tolkien. I chose Marvel because it seemed like it would be a lot of fun and, Lord knows, adult Evangeline was in professional need of as much of that as possible. But did I think about the violence inherent in the characters I played and how that was contributing to the tolerance children might inherit toward violence? Not much. Not until after the films were released and part of me was dying to show my kiddies what Mommy had been a part of and another part of me didn’t want my kids to see Mommy acting out violently.
I am a big contrarian, and I gave birth to a little one. My eight-year-old son knows his mommy hates violence and has been telling me since he was three years old, “Mommy, I love violence.” Though it mystifies me, I have been able to recognize, over five years of allowing him to show me what he likes in content, that something in him truly responds to violence, the same way I responded to Little Women. It touches something visceral, deep inside of him. He’s a little boy growing up in a culture where there are so few outlets for his growing testosterone and aggression. Most men don’t hunt anymore. Most men don’t fistfight anymore. Most men aren’t even allowed to raise their voices or punch a wall anymore. But I do think aggression is in many of them. I try to watch and know his interests, even if I can’t understand them, and I hope and pray that he will afford me and other women the same grace as he ages. I try to know him better through what he likes to watch, and I try to accept that the things that touch him can and will be different than the things that touch me.
I don’t normally have a lot of extra time to spare, but I want to watch more films that inspire me, for my own sake, for my own soul. Not just whatever new, top ten, children’s fluff Netflix is ramming down my pupils, but films that I seek out as nourishment for my depleted soul. I don’t get as much time with my kids as I’d like to have, but I’d like to use some of it to learn what they respond to in movies and use that information to find worthwhile, beautiful content that we can watch together to stimulate conversations about our interests and values, to better understand one another. And now, while we’re all at home from work and school together, is a perfect time to practice.
I am taking turns with my sons.
“Let’s watch a movie I like and then you can choose a movie you wanna see. Let’s watch both together and let’s talk about them after.”
It sounds so simple, it sounds so small, but it can be powerfully bonding and formative, and it accomplishes that ever-so-important mommy virtue: checking multiple things off the mommy-priority list in one fell swoop.
Self-care: Check.
Child-bonding: Check.
Child-teaching: Check.
Rest: Check.
Joy: Check.
Learning: Check.
Growth: Check.
Admittedly, I don’t always love what screens have brought into our lives, but I do accept that my sons love them and that they will always be a part of our lives. So rather than opt out, I want to contribute to the habits and tastes they form in relationship to these ever-present devices. Story-telling has always been how we shape our young and how we remind ourselves. I want to remember, I want to tell my kids the right stories and I want to be there to watch their faces light up with the life that truly good stories contain.
Screens don’t have to be all bad. A lonely fire in the jungle can attract predators to a solitary child sitting, unsuspecting, beside it. I don’t want screens to be my babysitters. But a communal fire that we sit around together, with song and dance, stories and dramas, masks and costumes, food and drink, well . . . that fire not only scares away the predators, but it builds the family and the community. If movies, our modern-day fires, help inspire that kind of nurturing and that kind of connection, then by all means. It’s time for me to make time for movies.
Evangeline Lilly is an actress best known for her roles in the TV show Lost and the Ant-Man movie series. She is the author of The Squickerwonkers children’s book series.
Kyle and Zibby: Stepfather, Step Right Up
ZIBBY OWENS
On listening, learning, and rolling with the punches.
When Kyle and I first got together almost five years ago, all I could do was hope that my four kids would see how special he was and take to him like I had. I also hoped that he would be able to put up with them. I got lucky; I couldn’t believe how effortlessly Kyle adapted to the role of stepdad. Going from zero to four kids must have been quite an emotional adjustment, but for him, he always said he was “living the dream.” We sat down for our quarantine Instagram Live show KZ Time last month to talk about stepparenting and more.
The following are excerpts from our conversation edited for length and clarity.
Zibby Owens: Kyle is our guest today, because Father’s Day is around the corner and we have to start thinking about gifts. What do you want for Father’s Day?
Kyle Owens: Just to hang out with you and the kids. That’s what it’s all about—it’s the little things nowadays. Maybe a trip to Starbucks for social distancing coffees.
Zibby: That’s easy. (To audience) So for those for those of you who don’t know, I have four kids with my previous husband.
Kyle: And I have eight kids with my previous wife.
Zibby: No, stop it! Kyle has not been married before and graciously entered into this situation and took me with all the kids in tow, which was a big ask. Before the pandemic, we had sort of a system going. The kids would go to my ex-husband’s every other weekend for a long weekend. Kyle and I were able to travel. He has a career in LA as a producer, and so we spent time o
ut there. We could take trips and go to brunch and do things as if we were young and fun. He is somewhat young, but I am feeling not so young. Now here we are in the pandemic, and we have been at home with the kids nonstop.
Kyle: Nonstop, no help.
Zibby: I should also say Kyle has been doing all the cooking. I make breakfast and smoothies and French toast and things like that.
Kyle: You work a blender well.
The role of a stepparent is to roll with the punches in a lot of ways. You don’t get a lot of credit for the good things that you do.
Zibby: Thank you. Kyle does all the dinners and most of the lunches. (To Kyle) You were in your early thirties when you met me. You had not had kids before. You had not been married. Then all of a sudden, you married me and inherited these four kids as a step-dad, something that maybe you hadn’t considered being, or maybe you had. I don’t know.
Kyle: I mean, I knew about the kids before we got married.
Zibby: My question is, in all seriousness, how did you decide that that would be okay to do? How did you come to terms with the fact that in order to be with me you would have to also live with the four kids most of the time? Then how did you figure out how to deal with it?
Kyle: I’ve been teaching tennis for a really long time, a lifetime if you will, and teaching little kids, kids of all ages, so I was really comfortable around kids and really comfortable communicating with kids.
Zibby: But it’s different having a kid on a tennis court for half an hour and working on their forehand.
My parents are both divorced and remarried . . . I almost didn’t want to get close to my stepparents for a while because I felt disloyal about it.
Kyle: Yeah, it was a big learning curve of just trying to find my place and my role. It obviously is much different than teaching tennis lessons. I know at the time you had been a parent already for eight years. I was trying to catch up and trying to not only go on my own instincts, learn from you, but I think most importantly, learn from the kids. Listening to them is the biggest thing for me. Today, our littlest guy was yelling at me. He wanted the soap to wash his hands. I said to him, “Look, I know you’re the youngest and a lot of times you have to yell for everyone else to acknowledge that you’re just talking.” I said, “I’m always listening to you, so you don’t have to yell at me. You can just talk to me normally in a normal voice. I’ll listen to you. I’ll always listen to you.” He said, “Thank you. That was really nice. But I still need the soap.”
Zibby: I have to confess that I can be very controlling with the kids, well, probably in general. I like to be in charge. I like to do things my way. I always change plans. I have a lot of weaknesses as a person and as a parent. Kyle is very laid back, which is a blessing because otherwise it doesn’t work so well. If you were as aggro as I am, it would probably create a lot of conflict. I feel like you have made me a better parent, though, because you slow down when I am revved up all the time. You’re always saying that you’re just trying to make these kids into better people and one thing at a time. You try to appreciate the fun and do things a little differently and let things unfold organically. I was not of that mentality before. Yet I’ve adopted it.
Kyle: Have you?
Zibby: I mean, more so. But back to stepparenting, though.
Kyle: The role of a stepparent is to roll with the punches in a lot of ways. You don’t get a lot of credit for the good things that you do. You get a lot of the blame for the bad things that you do. You’re like the quarterback. If you win, everyone’s like, you’re great. If you lose, you’re a bum. But I have learned that these kids—your kids, everyone’s kids—they’re just still developing their brains. They’re not really as emotionally there as they will be eventually.
Zibby: Very true. And now we’ve been married three years. Things moved very quickly at the beginning. From the first minute, I said, “I’m not having any more kids, so you should probably just walk away right now and go and marry some pretty young thing and have your own family.” (To audience) I never would’ve seen this coming. Kyle was this young, dashing, tennis pro partying in Montauk. I was bogged down with four kids and crying in the shower and all the rest of it.
Kyle: I was swinging from the rafters of the Surf Lodge.
Zibby: Somehow it all worked out.
Kyle: Getting back to the stepdad thing, which was a little easier for me because the two little ones were so little that they don’t even remember, really. They don’t remember anything about that time. They don’t remember meeting me. To be fair, they don’t really remember you being married to their dad.
Zibby: They have actually asked me if I know him sometimes. “Do you know my dad?”
Kyle: That’s funny. “Have you ever met my dad before?”
Zibby: I have. I have met your dad.
Kyle: It’s really cute. I think they were really into me because I was just listening to them and hanging out with them. I think that they took to it pretty well. I think because the kids pick up on your happiness, Zibby, and recognized you being happy. I think that all they want is for you to be happy regardless of if it was with me or whomever. I think they have respect for the person who’s there helping that happiness grow.
Zibby: All I think about is how to protect them, especially now, and to make sure they’re okay and happy. It can be hard. I sometimes lose my temper, but it’s not okay for you to lose your temper because they don’t respond to it the same way. There are different rules for both of us, which I think creates a lot of conflict.
Kyle: The mom and the dad, whatever they do, they’re the mom and the dad. I feel like the stepmom or the stepdad, we are constantly earning respect. They’re always going to listen to you when it comes down to it. They’re always going to listen to their dad.
Zibby: Sorry about that. My parents are also divorced, so I relate a lot to my kids and how they feel about everything. My parents are both divorced and remarried. They split up when I was fourteen and my brother was eleven. I had to go through all the same stuff. I almost didn’t want to get close to my stepparents for a while because I felt disloyal about it.
Kyle: It’s a roller coaster of emotions. It’s definitely amplified now during quarantine when we’re just around each other twenty-four/ seven. Eventually, they’ll all be out of the house and in college and having their own lives. We’ll be looking back on these times and probably really pining for them.
Zibby: Or not. [laughs] I’m kidding.
Kyle: But really I’m in a good spot with these kids, in all honesty. They’re really cool to me. They could be terrible. I’m sure there are probably a lot of people out there who are in similar situations that I’m in, whether it’s a stepmom or a stepdad, and maybe the kids are just not having it and they’re not into it. I can’t even imagine what that must be like.
Zibby: I’m lucky to have a loving, understanding husband in Kyle. I know. I am so lucky. Kyle is a godsend. The fact that he is so patient with the kids—four kids, and they all have moods!—it can be a lot. He’s really patient. I don’t want to give any illusion that we have this perfect situation. Everybody has challenges. I don’t want to pretend that we don’t squabble every so often. We’re just like everybody else. So one more thing: If there was somebody out there who was about to be a stepparent, what advice would you give them?
Kyle: I would just say listen. You’ve got to listen to the kids. I would also say that the idea is not to replace someone else. Obviously, if that person is still living and is still in the picture and they’re a nice person, there’s no reason to feel like you’re trying to ever replace that person. You’re just trying to add to something already great.
Zibby Owens is a writer and mother of four in New York City. She is a literary advocate and the creator and host of the award-winning literary podcast Moms Don’t Have Time to Read Books. She runs a literary salon with author events, a virtual book club, and a daily Z-IGTV live author interview series.
Next Steps: A Perfect
ionist Tackles the Unknown
MARY LAURA PHILPOTT
Last year, when I was on book tour for I Miss You When I Blink, there was one question I heard from audiences more than any other. The first time someone asked, I was speaking to a group of investment bank employees at a corporate book club. A young woman in the second row raised her hand: “If you could go back and give your younger self one piece of advice, what would it be?”
“Quit more things,” I said. “I’d tell my younger self that she didn’t have to stick out every commitment she made. If you’re doing something you hate—a habit you’ve grown tired of or a job you can’t stand—stop doing it, so you can make time to do what you love instead.”
I’ll never forget what happened next. I wish I’d had a camera to record the crowd’s reaction. Most people just nodded politely, but a handful of faces throughout the room absolutely lit up. I wondered later if a few of those investment bankers might have gotten out of investment banking afterward, and if it might have been my fault. Oops.
As a recovering perfectionist, I still have a tendency to finish everything I start. I can’t help it. I like the sight of a list with every line crossed out, the feeling of being finished. But it’s one thing to spend an hour watching to the end of a movie you don’t love that much. It’s quite another to spend a decade working in a job that makes you feel like you’re sleepwalking, to live in a place you don’t feel connected to anymore, or to keep up a relationship that has long since stopped serving you well.
Those of us with type-A tendencies often have to be nudged to let go, and that’s how I treated this question—as a chance to tell anyone in the room who was holding on, white-knuckled, to something they needed to release that it’s okay to quit and make space for what’s next in their life. One of my favorite parts of each event was the book-signing line, when at least one or two people would lean in to whisper what they wanted to quit and what they dreamed of doing next. “I’m leaving my law practice and going back to school to be a counselor,” one said. “I’m opening a bakery,” another confided. I may have been the first to hear about a few divorces.