#and Mr Harrington is just standard multi generational baggage man

[nottobehornyonthemain]

I’m just going to throw my hat into the ring about Steve’s parents because I’m bored. But like, Let’s spice up the level of shitty parenting.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who’s actually a professional. Steve has said that she’s “super well respected” and, for as much as the fandom likes to play him as a dumbass, you don’t put people whoes only achievement is being a jealous housewife on your résumé, especially when you have another parent with a notable (ostensibly white collar) career.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who’s a news anchor, or a lawyer. Give me a Mrs. Harrington who worked her ass off to be taken seriously by men for the entire late 50’s and early 60’s. Give me a young, ambitious woman with hazel eyes at a mixer for the company she’s working for in Chicago one night, who caught the eye of the charismatic man with ridiculous fluffy brown hair.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who grew up with a veteran father who never really seemed to care. Give me a little boy waiting, every day, for his dad’s letters, waiting for his father Otis to get back from this horrible war. And then he does, and he’s a hero, and suddenly it’s like nothing his son does is worth his notice. When he’s 15 and gets into his first fight? Otis doesn’t even comment on his bruised face before he walks out the door in the morning. When he gets into college? His mother is the one to hand him the watch his parents allegedly both got him as a graduation present. When he gets a job! A good job, where he has his own office and his name on a plate on his desk, not so much as a card.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who promised himself that, if he ever had a son, he would notice. He would pay attention to his kid’s grades, and what they were doing in school. That he would be proud of whatever college his son got into. That if his kid was ever doing something stupid, drinking, fighting, smoking, he would care. And he would say something.

Give me a Mr. Harrington meeting a beautiful woman in Chicago one night, and somehow, convincing her to come back to Hawkins with him. Give me the big news engagement and the blowout wedding fit for two people with nowhere to go but up.

Give me the Harrington couple buying their house, and planning to wait a few years before they start having children. Give me them having their first child, a son.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington being offered the promotion she’s been working towards for years almost immediately after, and taking it.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who never really thought his wife would keep working when they had children, but being smart enough not to say anything about it. Give me them realizing that, between both of their jobs, plans change, and their son will be their only child.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who “doesn’t trust” her husband not because he might be cheating on her, but because, for as much as he can charm and schmooze with just about anyone, he has never had anyone tell him that he lacks actual understanding of his business. Give me a Mrs. Harrington seeing a stack of papers her husband brought home last night where the math doesn’t quite add up. Give me the blowout fight over his shady new business partner and the costs they could save if they just… cut a few corners. Give me her struggling to be taken seriously and explain to him that the consequences could be actual jail time and a complete destruction of their lives. Give me him hating that she thinks she knows better than him about his own business.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who keeps his promise to care about what his son is doing. Give me his unnecessary lectures, and comments and micromanagement whenever his son walks in the door.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who couldn’t care less what her son is doing as long as he’s alive. Give me her bitchy comments that have been her best defense in the professional world for so long rubbing off on her son.

Give me a Steve who’s let it shape him. Who got his brown eyes, and desire to be at the top of the social sphere as soon as possible from his mom. Who got his begrudging tendencies to care while still finding something to complain about from his dad.

Give me a Harrington couple who isn’t absent, exactly. Who have the occasional business trip, but are actually in town when most of this stuff goes down. Give me a house that’s almost always empty, not because no one lives there, but because Mrs. Harrington is out late again tonight because the boss needs to be sure everything is in perfect order for Monday. Because Mr. Harrington absolutely has to close this deal. Because Steve has practice for both swimming and basketball today.

Give me a Steve who craves the domestic because of this. Who doesn’t have big plans or ambitions. Who, at his center, just wants to be able to flop on the couch and watch movies with the people he cares about. Who wants family vacations, and kids, and a big house filled with noise. Give me a Steve who understands that that’s where his love of parties came from.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who watches as his son seems to completely throw away everything he worked so hard to give him. Give me the fights over the beer, and the weed, and the grades. Give me the bombshell that his son didn’t even manage to get into college, and the realization that he needs to learn to be responsible.

Give me a Mr. Harrington who comes home one night to Robin and Dustin eating cereal in his kitchen at midnight. Who doesn’t really know what to say, so he sets down his briefcase and eats a bowl of cereal while asking these children who they are and why they’re in his house. Give me a Mr. Harrington patting his son on the back the next morning and telling he how much he likes the nice girl who can speak every language, and the little boy who can recite the periodic table from memory. Give me a Mr. Harrington who knows he made the right decision when he made his son get a job of his own instead of just working for him.

Give me a Mrs. Harrington who, when Steve informs her in the middle of a conversation that he has a boyfriend, doesn’t look up from the mirror where she’s applying her eyeliner.

Give me a Steve who’s had enough of her not caring and asks her, “really? You don’t have anything to say?”

Give me a Mrs. Harrington icily meeting his eyes in the mirror and saying, “Steven. You’ve been putting egg in your hair once a week since you were twelve and a girl in your class told you it makes it shiny, and you’ve been stealing my hairspray even longer.” Then goes back to lining her eyes.