After said five years of being part of our lives but still apart from us, they married. Once again giving me a stepfather and regaining the title of stepdaughter in my (primary) home. Similar to the last time the title of "step" wasn't one I applied to myself. And to be honest it wasn't one in which I put a lot of emphasis in relation to my stepdad. Yes, he wasn't "my" dad. Yes, I had a dad whom I loved and couldn't be replaced by anyone. And no I didn't call him Dad, I called him (and still do) by his given name. Yet his role in my life wasn't terribly different than that of my Mom's. And their marriage, while not perfect, finally gave me the chance to see a functional, loving marriage that was built on friendship. Their marriage also gave me and my brothers a solid family unit. One that still exists today.
My Dad's second marriage lasted much longer than my Mom's second. This particular marriage ran the course of my childhood and ended when I was in my early twenties. And while I'm sure the lessons learned from these seventeen years will be shared on this blog for now I'm going to leave this particular piece of my history where I left it in my previous post- the word step was an ugly and profoundly impactful word. And, maybe for no other reason other than my own insecurities, I never stopped feeling that word.