Robert. Dad. Stepdad. What's in a Name? I grew up in a bubble. A slightly dysfunctional bubble. The term "broken home" was something I'd only heard of on TV. We had our share of problems, but they all stayed within the realm of the imaginable for me, and divorce was something I hadn't really imagined. I remember hearing about an aunt and uncle getting a divorce, and to my still-developing mind the whole idea was incomprehensible. You grow up, get married, have children, the end. When I met my wife, a divorced mother of four children, in the most bizarre of circumstances (thank you, World of Warcraft), I was so infatuated I didn't even realize I was diving into a situation I'd never really understood in the first place. In no time at all, I found myself having to learn how to be a father figure to children who still had a father figure, albeit one who no longer lived with them. I had to adapt and evolve quickly, throwing myself voluntarily into a trial by fire. I'd like to think I did all right (feel free to call me out if you can't stand me, kids), but I guess we can never know how well we did until our children look us in the eye and say: "I understand now. Thanks, Dad. The "Dad" thing is a bit of a fantasy of mine as a stepparent. As, I'm well aware, is the idea that my children will someday reassure me that they understood all along. I'm still "Robert" to most of my kids (their biological father is also sometimes "Robert," proving the power of habit), but I always get giddy when they forget and call me Dad. "Stepdad" has been more of a qualifier than a name in our world, especially in the beginning. "Go ask your Dad if you can go to the movies!" was followed by kid hollering that I wasn't a Dad, I was a Stepdad. It wasn't a name I liked. "Step" has so many ugly connotations when it's associated with "parent." Any good-guy stepparents in Disney movies? Don't think so (maybe Baloo, but that's a stretch). Parents already have hurdles to jump when dealing with their children. We trip, we get up, we get back in the race. As a stepparent though, I feel as if my hurdles are covered in barbed wire. Tripping over one doesn't give me an excuse to give up, even if my legs are bleeding all over the place. I can't just lie there. But getting up and jumping again is harder than I ever realized it would be. I don't have stepchildren and biological children. I have children. Period. And even if I am Robert to four of them and Daddy to one, they all deserve to have a Robert-Dad-Stepdad who keeps running for them. Metaphorically speaking, of course; I don't think I could clear an actual hurdle, let alone one covered with jagged wires.