When I met my future wife in 2018, I had no idea I was also meeting my future son. At first, I was just the boyfriend who came around sometimes. She shared custody with her ex 60/40, which worked – until it didn’t. Within six months, my stepson was living with us almost full time. O vernight, I went from single guy, to serious boyfriend, to Dad. It wasn’t official at first, of course. My son didn’t call me “Dad” – he called me “Granty,” a nickname that felt uniquely ours. He told kids at school he had a Mommy and a Granty. I never pushed him to change that. I grew up in a blended family myself, and I know what a loaded word “Dad” or “Mo m” can be. Those words carry history. They carry choice. What I didn’t expect was how many people – especially other men – had opinions about my role. Some were supportive. Others were judgmental. And then there were the ones that landed like little paper cuts – small on the surface, but painful just the same. Here are the five rudest things people say to stepparents – and why they miss the mark. ‘I could never do that.’ This is often said with wide-eyed awe, as if I’ve taken up an extreme sport or become a monk. Paediatric therapist Lauren Weissler, LMSW , who is also the child of a stepfather herself, said this rudeness often comes from the side of the family that feels as though they are being replaced or the child themselves. “Yes, it is common for friends of the stepparent to question their reasoning/sanity for taking on the responsibility of a human being who is not ‘theirs’ biologically,” Weissler says, “but they’re not in love with that child’s parent (ahem, hopefully), and maybe they have the depth of a puddle and cannot think beyond the concept of what media has historically shown us the ‘traditional’ family is.” Yes, stepping into fatherhood with a child who isn’t biologically mine required commitment. But that doesn’t make me a saint. It makes me…a parent. One who happened to fall in love with a woman who already had a kid. I didn’t wake up one day and say, Today I shall take on another man’s child for the greater good of humanity. No. It happened slowly, then all at once. I fell in love with my wife. I got to know her son. I showed up. I stayed. “People with opinions are most often projecting their own unwillingness to commit and be vulnerable, onto the person who is emotionally brave and secure enough to step up (pun intended),” concludes Weissler. “This is entirely fear-based which quite honestly fuels many opposing views related to lack of understanding or willingness to understand.” ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to take care of someone else’s kid.’ This one stings more than people realise. It’s usually men who say it, and it lands as both a critique and a confession. When I hear it, I think: If you can’t imagine loving a child who isn’t yours, I’m sorry – for you. Because you’re missing out. My oldest son may not share my DNA, but he shares my life. I pack his lunches, sit through his Taekwondo practices, nag him about brushing his teeth, and know exactly which specific brand of macaroni n cheese is the only one he’ll eat (the deluxe kind, no powdered cheese for this kid…he’s got it better than I did as a kid). None of that feels like taking care of “someone else’s kid.” It feels like fatherhood. Again, Weissler says this comment is fear-based, plus a lot of ego. “Many times the people saying this have not allowed themselves to think beyond inheriting the DNA and family history of the biological parent,” she explains. “They want to see themselves in their child, not the ex they know has anger issues or a unibrow. They picture this child as being a constant reminder of a past they were not involved in. … Yes, genetics can predispose children into inheriting mental illness or other health problems, but much of their behavior comes from the environment they are immersed in. If we are raising children with love, nonviolent consequences, structure and stability, we arm them with protective factors that aid in their emotional and behavioral growth.” The subtext of this comment is often: You’re doing charity work, not real parenting. But trust me. When your 3-year-old is screaming about wearing socks while your 10-year-old is crying about his lost Pokemon cards, it doesn’t matter whose last name is on the birth certificate. It’s parenting. All of it. This comment always feels like a litmus test for where society is: We don’t see the greater connection between us all. Stepping up and being a role model and taking care of someone when I am capable of doing so is for the greater good. I love my oldest, and I do not want to participate in broken-home trauma getting to live another generation. I want to make a difference, and show him that he is loved and worthy. ’Wow, you adopted your stepson? You must be a really good person.’ Weissler’s reaction to this comment I receive often really says it all: “Are we so desensitised as a society that we are shocked when people are good to each other?” she asks. “I think this comment comes from people that look at being a stepparent as a form of charity and an act of self-sacrifice rather than a step toward an enriching life and building connection with people you’ve chosen to be family.” Here’s the thing: Adoption is paperwork. Love is the action. Parenthood is commitment. Sometimes you have nine months to mentally prepare, other times instincts kick in and you see how precious life is. Why not move toward connection rather than turning your back? When my wife and I made the decision to pursue adoption, it wasn’t because I was trying to rack up “Good Guy” points. It was because my son deserved a dad. He deserved security and clarity. He deserved to know that the man tucking him in at night wasn’t going anywhere. The fear and anxiety you can feel as a child when you have inconsistent care is rattling. I want to be like the midnight zone of the ocean for him, calm/stable, unaffected by the noise of the surface. Am I a good person? Some days, maybe. Other days, I’m impatient, distracted, grumpy – just like any other parent. I’m not “good” because I adopted my son. I’m just a dad who wanted to make official what was already true in our daily lives. To be honest, the adoption papers are probably my favourite legal document I have ever signed, notwithstanding the foregoing my marriage license. ‘How could his biological dad just walk away?’ People ask me this as if I have some secret insight into another man’s choices. I don’t. And believe me, I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times. Adopting my son was bittersweet. On one hand, he is my legal son, I am his father. Full stop. On the other hand, his biological dad chose to let go of his child. I can’t square that circle. “Unfortunately, this is the question that will be in the child’s mind for their whole life,” Weissler says. “This can lead to fear of abandonment, self-worth/esteem challenges and reluctance to be vulnerable in future relationships, for fear of rejection. However, having the stability and ongoing support of an emotionally available person who stepped in as his parent, is modelling behaviour that otherwise would/could have been lost with his biological father. The how and the why of things beyond our control are irrelevant when it comes to the role of a stepparent or anything really. It’s how we manage our present and future, setting a healthy example of how to show love, support and unapologetic vulnerability.” The truth is, my son’s biological father lives across the country. He calls maybe twice a month, asks the same handful of questions – What grade are you in? Is it snowing there? – and then hangs up. It’s heartbreaking in its simplicity, the way a parent-child bond can be reduced to a weather report. But here’s what I’ve learned: dwelling on someone else’s absence doesn’t help my son. What helps is being present. What helps is showing up for the science fair, the dentist appointment, the bedtime story, building Legos together, listening to him tell me all about Pokemon cards, watching “Candleshoe” again and again. When people ask me how a dad could just walk away, I think: That’s his story to explain. Mine is the story of how I stayed. ’But he’s not really yours, right? Don’t you want to have your own kids?’ I’ll never forget hearing this one in a casual conversation, tossed off like it was no big deal. The implication is that biology is the only bond that matters. But if you’ve ever built a family – whether through marriage, fostering, adoption, or chosen family – you know better. Love doesn’t stop to check birth certificates. “We as a society are so concerned with what is ‘ours,’ what belongs to us,” says Weissler. “Should we view our significant others or friends we love, as possessions? The same can be said for family members. Sharing DNA with people does not make them ours. Having children for the sake of keeping a family name or strong cheekbones is a dangerous reason to have children. We are literally raising tiny individuals that will one day be able to form their own opinions, which will often be different from their family members, I might add. Children will develop autonomy, their own likes and dislikes, their own interests and styles. This is not ours to have.” Yes, my oldest son is really mine, same as my younger son who shares some of my DNA. He’s mine when I help him with homework. He’s mine when I lose a game of chess to him. He’s mine when he hugs me so hard I almost fall over. He’s mine in the messy, ordinary, everyday ways that count most. Paperwork or no paperwork, bloodline or no bloodline – he’s my son. End of story. What these comments always miss about step-parenthood When people make these remarks, I don’t think most of them mean harm. Often, they’re just projecting their own fears or unfamiliarity. But here’s the truth: stepparents don’t need pedestal praise, and they don’t deserve casual dismissal. We’re not superheroes, and we’re not seat-fillers. We’re just parents who showed up. We were given an opportunity to connect, and we chose it. I know this because my own stepmother showed up for me when my family life was fractured. Her father had done the same for her. That ripple effect of chosen love shaped my life, and it’s why I knew I could step into the same role for my son. Today, I just call my stepmom Mom. I’m 41 and decided I can redefine what the word “Mom” means. It’s not weighed down by the past, it’s here today, and she is my mother today and will be tomorrow. Words matter. But in the end, love matters more. And the love I have for my sons – both of them, now – isn’t diluted by biology. It’s defined by commitment. So the next time you meet a stepparent, maybe skip the awe or the skepticism. Just say: That’s wonderful. Your kids are lucky to have you. Because the truth is, I’m the lucky one. And he calls me Dad now. Related... 'I Took My Kids' Tablet Devices Away – Parenting Has Never Been Easier' Parenting Coach Says Stop Counting To 3. Try This Instead To Get Kids To Listen I'm A Parenting Coach, Here's How I Stopped My Son's Tantrum In 7 Seconds