Every time I mention to someone that I have a stepparent (two, actually) they always react the same. They get a sympathetic look on their face and either apologize (for what?) or say something along the lines of, “Oh, that must be terrible for you!”
Um, why would it be terrible for me?
People have the idea that stepparents must be evil beings who torture their stepchildren and are unfit to be parents drilled into their minds. It’s like their reasoning goes like this:
I’m sorry, what?
I love my stepparents! They’re just all around good people!
My stepdad, Andy, on the right, teaching a student how to properly land a hanglider.
My mom’s husband, Andy, is probably the nicest person you’ll ever meet. He’s kind and funny and he and I have formed a secret alliance to sneak junk food into the house when my mom isn’t looking. He comes to all of my performances (without being asked!) and is always up to playing or hanging out with my brother, Ben, and I. He’s made my mom very happy.
My stepmom, Rita, whose smile never leaves her face.
My dad’s wife, Rita, is like a giant kid. Her and I have nerd conversations about Star Wars and Star Trek, and argue over which cartoon animated show is the best (she usually wins said arguments by pulling the “I’m a cartoon producer so what I say goes!” card). When she has a little too much sugar she starts bouncing off the walls and goes and gets oddly colored highlights in her hair. I’ve never seen my Dad happier than the day they got married.
I definitely lucked out on the stepparent front. Now my brother and I have not two, not three, but four loving parents who would go to the world’s end just to make sure that we were alright.
I love them, and they are the farthest from evil as someone can ever get.